


Guarding Castiel

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Modern Setting, Gay Sex, Happily Ever After, Homophobia, M/M, Secret Service Dean, Vice President Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 83,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: Secret Service Dean Winchester’s life was complicated. One minute, he’s arresting a money-launderer and the next, he’s head of the Vice President’s security detail. Dean takes over his duties protecting Castiel Novak, the country’s first openly gay Vice President. He’d keep his attraction to himself, after all, it wasn’t like one of the most powerful men in the nation would want him.Vice President Novak loved making a difference, but it took its toll on his personal life. The new Secret Service agent bound to protect him was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Over time, he found himself breaking protocol with the man paid to protect him with his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, it starts with Cas and Dean both having other relationships. This is brief, but I felt it builds the story. Don't sue me. I'd just come back from NashCon when this idea came to Tiffany and I. I was crushing hard on Adam Fergus. 
> 
> I want to think Tiffany (aka StellaDupre) for helping me flesh this story out and acting as my beta. I also want to thank Angi (aka EthneDragon) for her knowledge of the DC area and helping with continuity.

 

Agent Arthur Ketch opened the door and let the Vice President into the oval office. Agent Trenton, the head of the Vice President’s detail, nodded a stiff greeting and took his place on the other side of the hall. 

The President’s press secretary arrived next and once the door shut behind him, both agents relaxed their posture. Ketch had never liked Trenton. He always thought there was something  _off_ about him. 

The man in question stepped closer and whispered conspiratorially, “What’s it like working for her?” 

Ketch eyed him for a moment before answering, “President Moseley is fair and undemanding. I like her.” 

“I wanted Trump to win. Women and fags don’t belong in the White House.” Ketch schooled his features so his shock and disgust didn’t show. “You’re one of the best agents the Service has, bet it was a letdown to protect a woman.” 

Ketch didn’t respond to Trenton’s comment. He kept his tone even. “You can always ask for a transfer,” Ketch said, eyes narrowed. Trenton didn’t seem to notice his controlled anger. 

“Right… step down from a presidential detail? What do you think that would do to my career? My best hope is that they’ll find a way to impeach both of them.” 

“They?” Ketch asked, wanting to draw more information out of the bigoted bastard. 

“Yeah, the conservatives… Did you know he’s  _dating_ someone?” Trenton snorted. “Dating isn’t the word I would use. The guy has even spent the night. Our taxpayers’ dollars are being used to allow that faggot to fuck on our dime.” 

“So, he’s not allowed a social life?” Ketch knew of Vice President Novak’s boyfriend. He was some high-powered attorney. The guy was hot and the two together were what dreams were made of. Ketch liked Novak. The man loved his country and it showed. Human rights and the environment were the issues he focused on, while the President pushed for quality education opportunities for all and a better economy. In their first year, the nation showed an uphill swing in the stock market and employment rates. 

“Not for people like him,” Trenton spat out. “What they do… it’s unnatural. It goes against the Christian faith.” Ketch raised an eyebrow. Spewing hatred was against the Christian doctrine as well, but he didn’t think Trenton would appreciate him spelling it out. 

Ketch was saved from losing his temper by the arrival of the catered lunch for the meeting. Both agents checked the trolleys for anything unusual before sending it into the Oval Office. 

 

Castiel looked across the candlelit table at his date. Mick was talking about a case he’d won against a developer who’d built on a protected estuary despite having been warned. The wetlands would never be the same, but at least the prick had to pay for both cleanup and restoration. Mick was an environmental lawyer and that was one of the reasons Castiel was so drawn to him. His looks, that beautiful Irish accent, and his passion in bed didn’t hurt either. 

The restaurant was one of the few in DC where he was allowed some privacy. From his table, he saw the head of his security detail, Agent Trenton, standing by the hostess’ desk. Several other agents were scattered around the dining room, and he knew a half dozen more were stationed outside. Their dark suits, stoic demeanor, and the ever-present earbuds were hard to miss. 

“Next Friday night is the charity dinner, yes?” Mick’s question drew his attention back to his lover.  

He nodded. “That’s right. The car will pick you up at five-thirty.” 

“I think I’ll drive myself,” Mick interjected. They’d been seeing each other for four months, after meeting when Castiel was three months into his first year as Vice President. It was hard to do the dating thing when you were never alone, but Mick was dealing with it. He would rebel on occasion and insist on riding his Harley Roadster instead of letting Castiel’s motorcade arrange for his transportation, but mostly he followed the stringent rules. His face had been linked to Castiel's and in these troubled times, it could be dangerous to go without protection. While Mick didn't qualify for his own security detail, he'd had to hire bodyguards.  

“Mick,” Castiel was going to argue about the safety of Mick riding on his own, but his train of thought was derailed when Agent Ketch, the head of the President’s detail, and another man, walked into the restaurant. Ketch was a stunning example of masculinity, but even he paled next to the gentleman beside him. 

Mick followed his gaze. “You know them?” 

“Just the one. He is the head of President Moseley’s secret service detail.” 

“Which one? The ruggedly handsome one, or the pretty underwear model?” 

“Ruggedly handsome,” Castiel murmured as the hostess led them past their table. “Agent Ketch. It’s nice to see you,” Castiel said as they drew closer. He knew Ketch was well aware he was here, since he walked right by Trenton. 

“Good evening, Mr. Vice President.” The hostess had paused and there was an awkward moment of silence. 

It was Mick who broke it. “Why don’t you join us? Castiel… The Vice President and I haven’t ordered yet.” Castiel kicked Mick under the table for putting the agent on the spot, but the cocky Irishman didn’t even flinch. 

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Ketch said quickly. Castiel’s eyes settled on the other man. Ketch’s date, if Castiel was reading the signs correctly. 

“Nonsense,” Mick said, his boyish grin making him appear younger than his thirty-eight years. “Sit.” 

Both of the other men looked uncomfortable, but took the offered chairs. Since Mick was sitting directly across from Castiel, he was now flanked by Ketch and his  _date_. “Agent Ketch, let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend, Mick Davies.” Mick held out his hand and shook Ketch’s first and then the other man’s. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Davies,” Ketch said and then nodded across the table. “And this is Dean.” Castiel noted two things. First, Ketch didn’t use the term date or boyfriend. Had he been mistaken? Maybe it was a business dinner or just two friends… Secondly, he didn’t give  _Dean’s_  last name.  _Interesting_. 

Surprisingly enough, Mick drew Ketch into a conversation about motorcycles. Castiel smiled politely at Dean, but it was painfully obvious that the man was out of his element. “I’m sorry Mick put you and Agent Ketch on the spot,” he murmured. 

Vivid green eyes looked back at him. “That’s okay, Mr. Vice President,” he mumbled, his hands fidgeting with both the stem of his wine glass and the handle of his butter knife. 

“May I ask what you do?” Castiel was naturally curious and Ketch’s introduction still puzzled him. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” came the whispered reply. 

Castiel’s eyebrows lifted. He crossed his arms and after making sure Mick and Ketch were still deeply involved in the pros and cons of owning a Harley Davidson, he said, “You aren’t an international hitman plotting my assassination, are you?” 

Dean’s eyes widened to a comedic level. “Uh, no, Sir.” 

“Ah, but of course, you’d deny it. That’s what all assassins say.” Castiel’s lips twitched, as he tried to hold in his merriment. Dean was flustered and it showed by the flush of his skin and the touch of pink on his ears. 

Dean finally sat back and studied him, hands clasped on the table. “I’m not an assassin. I’m a member of the Amish Mafia.” 

Enjoying the game, Castiel nodded sagely. “Funny, you don’t look Amish, but then, you could be in disguise as an underwear model.” 

“I shaved the beard and lost the hat for this assignment,” Dean said, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. 

Their server arrived, putting an end to their amusing conversation. Ketch stood and faced Castiel. “Thank you for your time, Sir, but we will need to move to another table.” He gave a brief nod toward Trenton, who was watching them intently, a sour expression on his face. Castiel’s eyes went from Trenton back to Ketch. 

“I enjoyed your visit, Agent...Dean.” He stood and shook their hands. They walked away and Castiel couldn’t help but admire the cut of Dean’s suit. 

He and Mick ordered their meals and he noticed his boyfriend’s eyes straying over to the small table in the back of the dining room. Thankfully, Castiel’s back was to Ketch’s table, or he’d have been just as guilty. 

After their meal, Castiel’s detail surrounded him as they stepped out into the warm July heat. Washington was wrapped in a humid blanket and Castiel was looking forward to a short dip in the pool with Mick. 

The black Tahoe SUV sped through the crowded streets, escorted in front and behind by matching vehicles. Mick sat silent, tapping his fingers on his thighs. “Is something bothering you?” Castiel asked softly, even though the thick glass partition was up, separating them from the driver. 

Mick turned toward him, his face shadowed in the dim interior of the Tahoe. “Just tired.” There was more to it, but Castiel didn’t push. Mick would talk when he was good and ready. 

The vehicles stopped in front of One Observatory Circle. Castiel looked up at the historic Queen Anne home built on the grounds of the US Naval Observatory. This had been his home for the last year. Each Vice President before him had put their family’s touch on the place. So far, Castiel hadn’t changed anything, other than move the baby grand piano in front of the large bay windows overlooking the beautifully landscaped grounds. 

“Are you staying the night?” Castiel asked while he waited for a member of his detail to open his door. That had been hard for him to get used to. He hated being catered to, but realized it was about his safety. 

“Sure,” Mick said, as the doors opened and the two men could exit the Tahoe. Trenton led them inside the stately home. 

“I will be outside,  _Sir_ ,” Trenton said, a hint of insolence on the salutation. Castiel wasn’t stupid… he knew the agent was a homophobe. But being an asshole wasn’t grounds to fire him. 

“Agent, we will be using the pool tonight. Please adjust your patrol schedule,” Castiel learned quickly to take private time when he could. 

“Yes,  _Sir_ , Mr. Vice President.” Trenton left, the front door closing with a slam. 

“He doesn’t like you,” Mick observed, placing a hand on the small of Castiel’s back as they walked upstairs to the master suite. 

“Rumor has it he would have been happier with Trump.” 

Mick pursed his lips in distaste. “Can you ask for someone else?” 

Castiel shrugged. “He hasn’t done anything to warrant a transfer or dismissal.” 

“Disrespect doesn’t count?” Mick questioned, already removing his tie. 

“I’m the first openly gay vice president. I really don’t want to rock the boat.” Mick huffed his disapproval but continued to undress. 

Wearing thick, white bathrobes, they padded down the stairs on bare feet. Castiel didn’t turn on the pool lights or the ones around the area. Both men dropped their robes and slid into the cool water. The eight foot hedge surrounding it gave them privacy from prying eyes and Castiel took a moment to admire Mick’s firm body in the moonlight. He was a couple inches shorter than Castiel, leaner too. Where his own chest was smooth, Mick’s was covered with a smattering of hair. 

Castiel reached out to draw Mick closer. The kiss was brief, but held promise. It had been well over a week since they’d been together and Castiel was impatient. His hand lowered to Mick’s cock. He wasn’t hard and Castiel began to stroke him slow and steady. Mick let his head lull back and Castiel took the opportunity to trail kisses from his jaw to his collarbone. 

It didn't take long until Mick was fully erect and Castiel’s own cock was heavy between his legs. “Want you,” he whispered against Mick’s skin. 

With a soft sigh, Mick gently removed Castiel’s hand from his shaft and tugged him to the side of the pool. He lifted himself to sit on the edge and pulled Castiel forward. He grabbed a handful of Castiel’s thick hair and raised one of his eyebrows in question. Castiel lowered his head and took Mick’s cock into his mouth. 

Castiel reveled in the sounds he was wringing out of his lover. He moved up and down, taking Mick deeper each time until his nose brushed the damp curls at the base of his shaft. He inhaled the musky scent of Mick’s sex. 

“A mhuirnín, you’re going to make me come with that talented mouth of yours.” Castiel looked up, but continued to swirl his tongue around the head, pausing once to dip it into Mick’s slit. The bitter, but heady taste of Mick’s precum exploded in his mouth. He hummed his approval and then Mick’s grip on his hair tightened. 

The slam of the gate startled both of them. Castiel raised his head and looked in the direction the noise came from. He didn’t see any movement. He rested his palms on Mick’s thighs and said, “Must have been the wind.” 

Mick’s smile was sad. He picked up Castiel’s hands in his. “I should go home.” 

“But…” Mick shook his head and got to his feet. Castiel watched him walk to where their robes were. He wrapped it around his body and without looking back, he disappeared into the house. Castiel was rooted to the spot. He let out a frustrated exhale and pulled himself out of the pool. 

Wearing his own robe, he strode into his bedroom. Mick was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes. Castiel stayed in the doorway. Eventually, Mick looked up at him. “We should talk.” 

There was a part of Castiel that knew this was coming. Dating the Vice President of the United States wasn’t easy. Romantic dinners included his security detail. Sex had to be planned in advance. “Can I get dressed first?” If he was being broken up with, he didn’t want it to be in a bathrobe. Mick nodded and moved from the bed. 

“I’ll wait in the sitting room.” 

Castiel looked up at the ceiling as if could give him answers. He took a few cleansing breaths and got dressed in a pair of his University of Chicago sweatpants and a plain gray t-shirt. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured to his image. It wasn’t like he was madly in love with Mick, but he cared for him. He cared a lot. He’d hoped they’d grow closer and fall for each other. Mick was funny, smart, and a skilled lover. 

Downstairs in the sitting room, Mick was pacing the room, hands in his pockets. He stopped when Castiel got close. “This is going to be harder than I thought,” he said, meeting Castiel’s eyes. He took both of Castiel’s hands in his and brought them to his lips. “At one time, I imagined a life with you. Kids, dogs, the little house in the country…” He paused and Castiel gave him a soft, barely-there smile. “You would be easy to love, Castiel… but all this…” His gaze encompassed the room, but Castiel knew he meant the bigger picture. The life Castiel had chosen was hard on married couples… almost impossible for those getting to know one another. 

“I understand,” Castiel whispered and went into Mick’s embrace. “I understand and wish you the best.” He leaned back to look at Mick. “I hope you find someone that deserves you.” 

“Enough of that now.” Mick gave him a lopsided smile. “We’re mates… friends. Always will be. You won’t be getting rid of me that easy.” 

“Promise?” Castiel held on tight, praying that Mick meant his words. Friends in Washington were hard to come by. 

“Aye, Castiel, I promise,” Mick said softly and gave Castiel a chaste kiss on the lips. As far as goodbye kisses went, it was the best Castiel had ever had. 

 

Ketch had escorted the President to the residence and left her in the capable hands of the next shift leader. Instead of going home, he drove to the headquarters building and made his way through the hallways until he reached his supervisor’s office. Chief Singer’s secretary had gone for the night, but his boss’ light was on. It wasn’t unusual. Singer often stayed late.  

He knocked. “Enter,” came the disembodied voice behind the door. 

Robert Singer, Bobby to his friends, was a gruff man who looked like he’d be more comfortable under the hood of a car than wearing a suit in the corner office. As the Chief Operating Officer, Singer was in charge of the agents making up the various details in the DC area. He looked up from an open file on his desk. “What?”  

When confronted by the Chief’s harsh demeanor, young agents quaked in their boots. Ketch was seasoned and had known Bobby Singer through three administrations.  

“I need to bring something to your attention,” Ketch said, still standing stiffly at the threshold. Singer eyed him for a few seconds and nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. Ketch sat. 

“Am I going to like it?” 

“No, Sir.” 

“Shit. It’s Friday and I’m taking my wife out for dinner. Don’t put me in a foul mood, Agent.” 

“Sorry, Sir.” Ketch wasn’t a trouble-maker. He had an exemplary record. He knew the Chief would heed his words. 

Singer leaned back in his chair and sighed,” Go ahead. Make my day.” 

“I believe that Agent Trenton is not the right person to lead Vice President Novak’s detail,” Ketch stated matter-of-factly. He waited. Something flickered in Singer’s eyes and Ketch knew this wasn’t the first complaint the Chief had heard about Trenton. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“He made a few homophobic slurs to me when Vice President Novak was meeting with the President today." 

“I’ve always hated the word homophobic. It implies fear. They aren’t afraid. They’re just fuckin’ assholes.” Ketch could not contain his grin. “Well, shit, I’d like to be able to say you’re the first to bring this to my attention, but there’s a long list.” 

“Not to be disrespectful, but why haven’t you done anything?” Ketch was sure Singer would blow a gasket at his insubordination, but he was surprised when the Chief shrugged. 

“I haven’t done anything because Novak hasn’t made any formal complaints. Hell, he hasn’t said a damn word.” Singer ran his hands over his face. 

“So, will my complaint just be added to the list?”  

Singer put his hands flat on his desk. “Consider Trenton gone.” 

“Henrickson will be a good replacement,” Ketch started, but the Chief held up his hand. “He’s a good agent and is already familiar with the Vice President.” The man had come over from the FBI and was cool-headed and street smart. 

“He is, but I have someone that would fit the leadership position better. I will let you know if he accepts the transfer. I’ll want you to meet with him. I’ll have him shadow you for the first week. Henrickson can ride herd on Novak while he gets familiar with the way things are done.” 

Ketch stood. “Give your wife my best, Sir.” 

He walked to his car and got behind the wheel. Singer wasn’t the only one with a date. He glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time to get home and shower before picking up his boyfriend. It was their one year anniversary of sorts. With their schedules, they didn’t get much time together, and the year had passed quickly. He’d made reservations at 1789. It was expensive, but the atmosphere was great and intimate.  

 

"Another one bites the dust," Special Agent Dean Winchester sang as he closed out his computer. He'd just arrested the leader of a huge money-laundering scheme that morning and all his reports were filed. He was ready for the weekend. 

He grabbed his keys out of his desk drawer and called out goodbyes to the rest of his division. He whistled the rest of the Queen song as he bounced down the two flights of stairs that led to the parking deck. As he walked to his car, a beautiful, black Impala, he ran through his list of things he needed to do before Art picked him up. It hardly seemed like a year had gone by since they'd met at a training exercise.  

Both of them traveled a great deal, so they didn't get a whole lot of time together. And keeping their relationship from the top brass made things dicey sometimes, but they were good. Dean knew it wasn't a "happily ever after' thing. That kind of stuff was for fairy tales and his brother.  

As he drove out of the deck into the heavy Washington traffic, he thought about Art. They shared a love of good food, good music, and good sex. Dean, himself, wasn't into celebrating little milestones like anniversaries or even birthdays, but Art wanted to do something special tonight, so Dean was going to make an effort to enjoy the evening. He'd rather stay at home and watch a movie, then spend the night in bed, naked and sweaty. 

At his apartment, he stripped out of his suit and turned on the shower. As the hot water ran over his tired body, his thoughts were still on his boyfriend... okay, boyfriend was a stretch. He frowned when he remembered a few weeks back when Art suggested they move in together. In the same sentence, he said the 'L' word. Dean, with his affinity of saying the wrong thing, said he didn't think they were ready for that shit. Yep, just like that. " _Dude, we aren't ready for that shit._ " 

Art had come unglued. Well, that wasn't true. Art didn't lose his shit like Dean. He'd given Dean the silent treatment. It had lasted for over a week. Complete radio silence. It was Dean who broke all his own rules and groveled. He'd even talked about  _feelings_. While they still weren't on the same page, at least they were reading the same book. All that because Dean hated being alone. He could talk with Art about work and he understood. Dating in Dean's past had been a fuckin' nightmare. Most people didn't get the danger, the risks involved... all the travelling.  

The doorbell rang, bringing him out of his musings. He finished buckling his belt and glanced in the mirror. It was weird wearing a suit without his shoulder holster. 

He let Art in with an easy kiss on the lips. "I'm ready. Are you going to tell me where we're going? You know I hate ties, right?" 

"We're going to 1789," Art said, straightening the Windsor knot Dean had just tied. 

"Fuck, Art, you rob a bank or something?" Dean stared wide-eyed at him. Art pursed his lips at the shortened version of his name. He preferred Arthur, but Dean thought it was too stuffy. 

"No. I wanted something different than our usual." Their usual places were out-of-the-way diners and dives picked by Dean. Art liked fancy food and small portions that left a man hungry. Just one of the reasons Dean didn't think moving in together was a good idea. Art's apartment was filled with white furniture, chrome tables, and modern paintings. Dean's was all about comfort and posters from his favorite movies. 

They left Art's black Norton Commando sitting in a visitor's slot and took the Impala. The motorcycle was a sweet ride better left for weekend trips out of the city. Dean's car was their usual mode of transportation for nights out. 

Parking was a bitch, but Dean finally found a place a block away from the restaurant. Their knuckles brushed a few times, but neither were the PDA type. They really couldn't allow anyone to see them as a couple. Art's steps faltered when the drew near the exclusive establishment. Dean's spidey senses tingled and he spotted the black suits. "Shit. We should go somewhere else." 

"No. We have reservations," Art said like that mattered. Like the place wasn't crawling with Secret Service agents. Agents that would watch their every move.  

Art walked past the watchful eyes of the agents and stepped inside. Dean was right behind him. Word traveled fast in Washington and among the security details. They would have to pretend they were friends having dinner together. Just two friends... sharing a meal... in a fancy-ass restaurant that cost as much as a week's pay. _Fantastic_. 

The hostess led them across the dining room and Dean bumped into Art's back when he stopped abruptly. Curious, Dean stepped around Art and saw the Vice President.  _The Vice President_. That explained all the suits. 

“Good evening, Mr. Vice President,” Art answered, his voice as stiff as his posture. The hostess stood waiting and the silence was awkward as hell. Dean guessed you didn't slap the second most powerful person in the country on the back and say, 'how's it hanging?' 

The man sitting across from the Vice President smiled and said, "Why don’t you join us? Castiel… The Vice President and I haven’t ordered yet.” The accent was sexy as fuck. Irish? Yeah, damn, the man could read the freakin' phone book and it would make Dean hard.  

Ketch spoke up. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.” Dean felt the Vice President's eyes on him and suddenly it was stifling in the room. 

“Nonsense. Sit," the Irishman said with a smile that encompassed both Art and Dean. 

Dean could feel the tension rolling off Art, but when he moved to sit, Dean followed his lead. “Agent Ketch, let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend, Mick Davies.” It was no wonder he was Novak's main squeeze. The man's boyish charm and thousand watts of sex appeal was enough to make anyone horny as fuck. He held out his hand and shook Art's and then Dean's. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Davies.” Dean could read Art like a book and his boyfriend was gearing up to bolt whenever he got the chance. Business and pleasure didn't mix for the man. That was one of the reasons their relationship was kept under wraps from  _everyone_. “And this is Dean.”  

Amazingly enough, the dude drew Art into a conversation about motorcycles. Dean knew Art was lost to him for the time being. Great. Now, he was stuck trying not to make a fool out of himself in front of the Vice President of the United States. 

Just when he was going to comment on the weather, Novak leaned toward him. “I’m sorry Mick put you and Agent Ketch on the spot." 

Was that a hint that Dean needed to grab Art and haul him out of there? No, the guy looked sincere. “That’s okay, Mr. Vice President.” Dean couldn't find anything to do with his hands. He was so cool on the job. Why was he nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs?  

“May I ask what you do?” The question made Dean's hands freeze. His fingers were so tight on the wine glass that he thought the stem would snap.  

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he whispered. The Vice President's head tilted to the side like Dean was a puzzle to figure out. Slowly, he sat back and crossed his arms across his chest. “You aren’t an international hitman plotting my assassination, are you?” 

Shocked and unsure if the man was serious, Dean managed to say, “Uh, no, Sir.” 

“Ah, but of course, you’d deny it. That’s what all assassins say," he said and Dean saw the smile fighting its way to the surface. Novak was playing him. He felt his face heat up. Then he quickly pulled himself together.  _Game on, dude_. 

“I’m not an assassin. I’m a member of the Amish Mafia.” 

There, a hint of a smile, but the nod seemed dead serious. “Funny, you don’t look Amish, but then, you could be in disguise as an underwear model.” 

“I shaved the beard and lost the hat for this assignment,” Dean countered. Who knew the Vice President could be funny? On television, he always looked stiff and unhappy. Then again, fighting for justice against corrupt assholes probably kept him that way.  

Novak opened his mouth to say something else, but the server arrived. Art stood. “Thank you for your time, Sir, but we will need to move to another table.” Dean got to his feet as well and pushed in the chair 

“I enjoyed your visit, Agent... Dean." Handshakes were traded again and Art led them to their table in the back of the room. 

"Well, that was fuckin' weird," Dean said, picking up the menu. 

"Thank you for not blowing our cover. With his detail watching our every move, I hope rumors don't start." 

"Just two guys having dinner together, Art. No big deal. Do you think they have beer here?" 

The expensive meal was good, but Art was quiet and their usual banter was stilted. Once the Vice President and his entourage left, Art seemed to return to normal. "He was hotter in person," Dean observed as he watched them leave the restaurant. 

"Who?" 

"Who? Damn, babe, who else? Novak. Though his boyfriend was fuckin' hot too. I wouldn't kick either one out of bed," he teased. 

"I might pay money to watch that," Art admitted with a sly smile. 

"Kinky bastard," Dean said with a laugh. "And speaking of kinky..." 

Back at Dean's, they shed their suits and traded wet, open mouthed kisses. Art pushed Dean onto the bed and soon, had a finger fucking into his ass. Dean moaned and writhed, begging for more. Art gave him what he wanted and soon Dean was holding onto the headboard, knuckles white from the strain. 

The steady slap of skin on skin, the driving rhythm of the headboard banging against the wall, and their gasps of pleasure filled the room. Art's hands gripped his hips, holding him tight as he relentlessly fucked into him. Dean needed to come... ached to come... "Please, babe..." 

"Touch yourself, Dean... God... I'm so fucking close." Dean loved it when Art's usual eloquence was shaken by lust. "Tight... so damn tight..." Dean reached down to wrap his fingers around his cock. It was slick with his arousal and seconds later, he was on the edge of the abyss. His muscles contracted and his lungs felt like they were on fire.  

"Ah...ah..." Dean grunted as Art froze behind him. He felt the throb of his lover's cock as he filled the condom with hot cum. "Yessss," Dean hissed and tumbled over the edge, his release spilling onto the headboard.  

It was unusual for Art to stay the night, especially since the moving in conversation, so Dean walked him to the door and they shared brief kiss goodnight. Dean fell into an easy sleep. Good sex always relaxed him. 

Monday morning, Dean stepped into his office and was immediately called to the sixth floor. Racking his brains to figure out what he'd done to warrant a visit to the chief's office, Dean made his way to the elevator. 

He traded niceties with Chief Singer's secretary and then she waved him through. 

Bobby Singer recruited Dean from his job with the Arlington Police Department. Singer had served with Dean's father in the Marines back in the day. John Winchester was a highly decorated detective with the department and Dean had followed in his footsteps. John died in the line of duty when Dean was barely out of high school and he worked hard to make it through the academy and attend night classes to gain his Criminal Justice degree. He wanted to make his father proud.  

Dean had a lot of respect for Chief Singer. "Sir, you wanted to see me?" 

"Sit, Winchester. And get that scared look off your face. You ain't in trouble." 

Dean sat. "Can I ask why I'm here then... Sir?" 

"I'm giving you a promotion."  

Dean's brow furrowed. What the hell? He'd just gotten a promotion in January. He wouldn't turn it down, but it seemed strange. "A promotion?" 

"Close your mouth, boy. You're gaping like a goddamn fish. I'm giving you a promotion and a transfer." 

"Transfer?" 

"Why are your repeating everything. Is your brain addled for some reason?" 

"No, Sir. I'm just...kind of... shocked... I guess. Where I'm I being transferred to?" Dean loved DC. Sam was here... with Eileen and Toby. The thought of not being around to watch Toby grow made his chest hurt. Art... Art was here too. Dean felt bad for making Art seem like an afterthought. He'd survive without Art, but would he without his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew? 

"I have appointed you as head of the Vice President's security detail." Before Dean could take that bit of information in, the Chief bulldozed on. "You will have a team of ten on your shift, eight on second shift, and four more in special teams. They include a travel coordinator, a dog handler, a communications specialist, and a surveillance expert. This afternoon, you will be meeting with the President's senior agent. You will be shadowing him for the next five days. Your nights will be spent studying blueprints of One Observatory Circle, Novak's residence, and the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. Here is your new bible." Singer pushed a thick notebook across the desk. "By Sunday, you will know everyone on Novak's staff. You will know his daily routine down to what brand of toothpaste he uses." Dean opened the binder and thumbed through it. Singer sat back and continued, "Any questions you have can be addressed by Agent Ketch." Dean closed his eyes. Ketch... as in Arthur Ketch... his boyfriend... lover...whatever he was these days. When he opened them again, Singer was staring at him. "You don't seem too happy, boy. You look kind of green around the gills. You do understand that this promotion is a good thing, right?" 

"Yes, Sir. I'm grateful, Chief. It's just a lot to take in." 

"Why? Christ on a crutch, Winchester. You are a good agent. One of my best. Your daddy would have been proud of you."  

"Thank you, Chief." Conversation over, Dean left with a promise to meet back there at four-thirty.  

He walked back to his office in a daze. What was he supposed to do? Should he get some boxes and pack up his desk? He closed his door and placed a call. Calling Art at work was a hard no, but this was important. Did Art know? Of course, he did. Then why did he let Dean get blindsided? 

"Dean?" Art hissed into his ear. "What's going on?" He sounded freaked. Probably due to the fact that Dean was calling him in the middle of the work day. 

"Did you know about my transfer?" Dean's tone was snappish. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration. God... he was going to be in charge of the Vice President of the United States.  _Castiel_ _J. Novak_. That same guy he was bantering with Friday night. Fuck his life. 

"Transfer? What transfer?" Okay, so he didn't know. Dean's breathing calmed. 

"I'm the new head of the Vice President's security detail." His announcement was met with silence.  

"Dean... I don't... we can't..." Art sounded really freaked now. Like  _lose his shit_ freaked. 

Calmly as he could, Dean began to speak. "We need to have a plan before we go see the Chief this afternoon," Dean steamrolled ahead. "Things will be dicey for a while, but it's not like we will be seeing each other every day. As long as we're cool, I don't see any problems. We'll just pretend we barely know each other." 

"You don't see any problems? Jesus, Dean," Art growled and Dean imagined him pacing in some deserted hallway of the White House. 

"Take it easy, babe. Nothing has to change. Look at the bright side. You'll be able to see my adorable face more often. The ear piece will make me even sexier." More silence. 

"This isn't a fucking joke, Dean. This is my career. And yours. Are you willing to risk it for a good fuck?" 

Whoa. "A good  _fuck_?" Dean's temper flared. " _I thought_ we were more than that." 

"I did too. Once." The unspoken words hovered between them like a swarm of angry hornets. Dean's refusal to do the moving in thing... it was coming back to haunt him. 

"Art... come on," Dean hated the pleading in his voice.  

"No, Dean. I can't talk right now. We will discuss this later." Dean was suddenly listening to empty air. 

"Fuck," he roared. 

There was a timid knock on his door. "You okay, Winchester?" 

He blew out a breath and counted to three. "Fine. I'm fine." He wiped his hands down his face. This promotion would cost him his lover. Art could do better. Someone more cultured... smarter... someone with the desire to settle down. 

Art was already seated in the Chief's office when Dean arrived. He let their boss introduce them and they shook hands like strangers. Dean listened intently to all the instructions regarding his new job, but inside he was already pulling away from Art. 

In the elevator afterwards, Dean kept up the professionalism. "What time do I meet you in the morning? And where?" 

"We can talk about it over dinner. Let's order a pizza and stay in," Art said, looking as exhausted as Dean felt. Dean stared at the numbers flashing above them until the doors opened on the first floor. 

"Look, I've got to clean out my office and get my suits to the drycleaners. Dinner is a no go for me tonight. Just give me a time and place." He purposefully didn't make eye contact. 

"Meet me here. In front of the building at seven," Art said softly. Dean was being an asshole and he knew it, but he couldn't let Art break it off tonight. He needed several drinks first. 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel was settling into his office chair when a somewhat familiar man appeared in his doorway. "Mr. Vice President? Your secretary said I could come in."

"By all means," Castiel said, standing and extending his hand toward one of the leather seats in front of his desk. If this man made it past security and his secretary, he must be important. "I'm sorry. You look familiar, but I can't place the name."

"Chief Operating Officer Singer, Secret Service, Sir."

"Ah." Castiel clasped his hands together and gave Chief Singer his full attention. Why would the man that runs the presidential security details be in his office?

"I fired Cole Trenton this morning." Castiel blinked. Singer didn't beat around the bush. "He is no longer on your security detail and... no longer an agent." Castiel sat back and blew out a long puff of air. "He was overheard making both anti-LBGT and racist comments. While on duty," he clarified. "I will not tolerate that kind of behavior in my agents."

"Thank you, Chief Singer. I didn't think I was his favorite person." Singer chuckled and stood.

"His replacement is an exemplary agent. Dean Winchester came through the ranks fast and I believe he will be a good fit for your detail. He'll be learning the ropes from Agent Ketch this week and will have his first shift on Sunday morning."

Castiel stood as well and offered his hand. "Thank you again, Chief. I'm looking forward to meeting him." Dean Winchester? Dean... the man with Ketch? Was it a coincidence? The beautiful man had remained in his thoughts.

For the rest of the week, Agent Henrickson was his acting head of security. Castiel liked the quiet man. He was one of the agents that ran with him every morning.

By Thursday, he was feeling lighter. He hadn't realized how badly Trenton treated him until he was gone. 

Henrickson and Harvelle escorted him to the Roosevelt Room for his meeting with the President and her senior staff. As he walked down the hall, he spotted Ketch... and Dean.  _That_  Dean. Not a coincidence then. The thought made him smile. At least  _they_  managed to juggle romance and work. That thought brought up visions of Mick. They hadn't spoken since Friday night when he'd left. Was it too soon to call and say hello? Ask how he was doing?

As he passed through the door, he caught Dean's eyes. "Good morning, Agent Winchester."

"Good morning...Sir... Mr.  Vice President, Sir." Castiel gave him a wink. 

"I'm looking forward to having you on my detail. I run every day at five-thirty. Hope you'll be able to keep up." Ketch was staring at both of them, a stoic, but curious look on his face.

"Got it, Mr. Vice President. Five-thirty," Dean said stiffly. Castiel was disappointed Dean didn't react like he did Friday night. Then again, they were just two strangers then. Now, Dean worked for him. Castiel gave both agents a brief nod and stepped inside the room. He greeted the President and the others already seated around the table before taking his own seat.

An hour later, President Moseley adjourned the meeting. As everyone stood to go, she placed her hand on Castiel's arm to prevent him from leaving. Once the room was empty, she turned toward him. "I got a memo yesterday about the issue with your security detail. Why didn't you tell me about him?" He knew who she was talking about, so there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

"You actually read all those memos?" He deflected. She frowned. He shrugged. "His views didn't spill over into his duties, Missouri. He was just not overly friendly." Alone, he slipped into his role as her friend.

"Didn't spill over?" She asked incredulously. "Do you believe he'd protect you if the need arose? Castiel, people like him don't belong in the secret service. These men and women serve with honor. That jackass had none."

"It's a moot point. He's been terminated."

"And good riddance. Agent Ketch is training his replacement this week... well, I guess you know all that." She waved her hand breezily, ready to move on to another subject. "I saw where you sent the RSVP in for Princess Anne's birthday celebration. London in August. Glad I'm going to miss that." Castiel and Missouri had both received invitations to the gala event, but Missouri's son was graduating from Westpoint and she needed to be there.

"How is James?"

Her eyes grew distant. "He's been a handful. At least, his grades didn't suffer." Missouri had lost her husband to a massive heart attack two months before the election. It devastated both her and their son. Despite the campaign at a standstill for the funeral, she won anyway. Fox News, Trump's camp, and the outspoken GOP blamed her win on public sympathy and said she'd be too weak to run the country. She was proving them wrong.

"James is a good boy... a good man," Castiel offered quietly.

"His father was so proud of him," she whispered.

"As you are, my friend," Castiel said softly and stood. Henrickson and Harvelle appeared at the door. Together, they made their way out of the West Wing.  Castiel cast a glance at Dean, but he was listening intently to what Ketch was saying. Their body language wasn't the same. Both were tense. It showed in their posture and the expressions. Trouble in paradise? He knew fraternization was frowned upon within the ranks of the Secret Service, but Castiel couldn't care less. Love was love. A wave of jealousy washed over him.

Castiel didn't have time to dwell on the love life of his new security team leader, he had too many things on his calendar. 

He'd purposefully made Friday a light day, so he could get out of the office in time to get ready for the charity event. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The tux fit him like a second skin. Maybe it was too much for something like this, but the invitation had said black tie. He ran his fingers through his hair, splashed on some cologne, and went downstairs. His SUV was waiting at the edge of the portico. 

The silent auction to benefit the Autism Society of Washington was being held at the St. Regis Hotel. His nephew, Jacob, had been diagnosed a couple of years ago. Anna, his sister, was a strong woman and devoted mother. She left her job at a large publishing house to stay at home with him. 

His presence here tonight was drawing a large crowd. For this, he didn't mind using his title. For Jacob, and other children like him, he'd do anything.

He'd planned to attend this with Mick. He glanced around the room wondering if his ex would be using the ticket. He said he would, but Castiel wasn't sure he meant it. As he made his way through the large room, he stopped to shake hands and exchange words with the crowd. His detail surrounded him, easy to spot in their dark suits in a sea of expensive tuxes and evening gowns. Castiel gave a cursory look at the items in the auction, but he would not be bidding. A large check was folded in his breast pocket. After asking a few people, he was pointed in the right direction. "Director Winchester?" The man towered over Castiel's own six foot frame.

"Yes..." He turned and his eyes widened. "Oh, Mr. Vice President. Wow... thank you for coming tonight. You have no idea how much your being here has helped."

Castiel smiled and handed him the folded check. "I hope you can put this to good use. I have followed the Society since you took over and I just want to say thank you for what you've accomplished."

The man brushed his shoulder length hair out of his face and stared at the check. "Mr. Vice President... this is... I don't know what to say."

"My nephew, Jacob... just put it to good use, please." He gave the man another smile and turned. He would need to mingle before making his exit. As he made his way to the bar for a glass of wine, he saw Mick. He stopped to observe him. While it still hurt, Castiel understood, and would move on. Mick turned and spotted him. That smile still did things to his insides. "Mick, I wondered if you'd be here." Castiel pointed to the bottle of wine and the bartender poured him a glass.

"This is important to you," Mick said, his gaze intent. "Castiel..."

"Shhh. I'm good, Mick. I've had a lot of time to think and I... I just want you to find someone that makes you happy. You deserve that."

"You deserve that too, Mo chuisle. I just wish..." Mick stopped. Instead of finishing the sentence, he lifted his glass and touched the edge to Castiel's. "To friends."

"Friends." Castiel took a sip of the full-bodied cabernet sauvignon. What more was there to say? Six days ago, he had Mick's cock in his mouth and tonight, it was like they were almost strangers. "I should go pump some of these people to open their checkbooks."

"I bid a huge amount on a piece of atrociously ugly pottery," Mick said dryly and Castiel laughed. Really laughed. He knew then, they'd be alright. 

By Sunday, he was so used to Henrickson as acting head of his detail, he'd forgotten about Dean Winchester. Or so he told himself. The night before he'd read the man's file. Yes, he had access to those things... 

Recruited from the Arlington Police Department, where he'd held the position as homicide detective, he transitioned well into the Secret Service. He was sent to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia and after completing the eleven-week course with high marks, he went for specialized instruction at the James J. Rowley Training Center in DCn after that. Once again, he was at the top of his class and was listed as an excellent marksman. After graduation, he started immediately in the financial crimes detection division. He'd been there for six years and moved up the ranks to deputy supervisor. The file told Castiel that he'd recently arrested a major kingpin in a money-laundering syndicate. Castiel was impressed.

He was lacing his running shoes, while sitting at the bottom of the staircase when there was a tentative knock on the front door. Strange. Castiel didn't get unannounced visitors. The household staff wasn't due until eight and they would use the side entrance.

Opening the door, Castiel was surprised to see Dean... Agent Winchester... standing there in running shorts, a plain black tee, and fairly new running shoes. He'd given the man a cursory glance. It would have been bad form to ogle a member of his detail."You said five-thirty, Sir."

"So, I did," Castiel replied, glancing at the grandfather clock in the entry. Thirty-two minutes past the hour. He smirked. Winchester was punctual and he expected others to be as well. He stepped out on the veranda. " _Will_ you be able to keep up, Agent Winchester?"

"I'd bet money on it, Mr. Vice President." There it was. That impishness that he'd seen at 1789.

Henrickson and Harvelle were already on the circular driveway. Castiel nodded hello and started on his stretches. The agents did a few of their own and fell into place behind him as he headed toward the Circle. Mornings were his time to reflect and meditate as he made his way through the grounds of the Naval Observatory. When they neared the thoroughfare, Harvelle, a strong runner, pulled into the lead. Dean took his left flank and Henrickson was on his right. Two other agents followed close in another unmarked, black Tahoe.

The slap of their shoes on the pavement lulled him into a zen-like trance. His eyes remained on the back of Harvelle's head, her blonde ponytail swishing from side to side.

All too soon, the route was complete and they slowed to a stop in front of the house. Castiel shook out his limbs a few times before trotting up the steps. "Thank you," he called out over his shoulder. He turned to shut the door, but Dean's tall frame blocked him. "Yes?"

"Don't you usually go over your schedule each morning?" Castiel eyed him quizzically. Is that what he was taught by Ketch? Did Missouri do that? Dean was shuffling his feet and Castiel was suddenly distracted by the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

"Well... no."

"Oh. Agent Ketch and the President..." God, his lips were pretty.

Dean was staring at him like he was an imbecile. What was he saying? Was there a question he was supposed to answer? "I'm sorry... what was the question?"

"I was instructed to meet with you every morning, but if you don't want to, that's cool. I will need a copy of your itinerary though. You can do it via email."

"No... no. I'm sorry, Agent Winchester. It's just that your predecessor did not..." Castiel paused. He shouldn't talk bad about another agent. Was there a code among the Secret Service?

"Trenton was an ass." Dean's vivid green eyes widened at his indiscretion. "God... I'm sorry, Sir."

Amused, Castiel held up a hand. "Agent, we should both stop apologizing to each other. And from my observations and Chief Singer's report, Trenton  _wa_ _s_  an ass. Let's start fresh. I will add an early meeting with you to my schedule. Perhaps during breakfast. That way, I won't be so sweaty." He lifted his damp shirt away from his skin to make his point.

"Of course, Mr. Vice President. And breakfast is when?"

"Seven. I usually eat in the kitchen." With a nod, turned and headed for the stairs, leaving the agent to shut the door behind him.

His week was a clusterfuck. He and Art were tapdancing around each other, both avoiding the pink elephant wearing a purple tutu that was always in the room with them.

_Agent Ketch_ was nothing but a professional at work. He gave Dean a crash course on guarding the President so it would be easy to step into his role with Novak. He'd toured the White House, the Capitol, the Vice President's residence, The Eisenhower Executive Office Building, Marine One and Air Force One. He'd run drills with the President's detail and met both shifts of Novak's security team. Names and faces were running together. He had a notebook filled with full size pictures of every member of Novak's cabinet and household staff, with dossiers to match. There was even a background check on Mick Davies. He was an attorney who specialized in environmental law.

He had Saturday off to prepare for his new assignment. His old office was cleaned out. He would now be stationed in a small building on the grounds of the Naval Observatory. The place had lockers, showers, a bunkroom, and a state of the art surveillance system run by a petite redhead named Bradbury. 

Before the sun showed itself Sunday morning, Dean met his team in the locker room. They would relieve the night shift at zero-four-thirty. He liked Henrickson and Harvelle right off the bat. He'd have to get to know the others. "So, everyone, listen up," he called out and all conversation stopped. "I just want to say that I'm proud to be here and I'm not one of those assholes that comes into a well-run situation and claims to know what I'm doing." There was some laughter and he pressed on. "Seriously, if I do something wrong, tell me. Tell me right then and there." His gaze scanned the faces of his team and all were nodding their heads. He clapped his hands loudly. "Okay, everyone knows their jobs, so let's go run with the angel." Angel was the code word for Novak. Dean had been amused to find out they used that particular designation for Novak because of his first name.

Dressed for exercise, Dean, Henrickson, Harvelle, and two other agents jogged the two hundred yards to Novak's residence. The chase vehicle met them in the driveway. By Dean's watch, it was twenty-five minutes past the hour.

The night shift supervisor came over and gave Dean a brief rundown. It was short since the Vice President stayed in last night and had no visitors.  _Saturday_ _night_ _and Novak didn't have a date with his sexy Irishman._..someone was slacking. Dean glanced at his watch again. The dude was late. With a shrug, Dean trotted up the steps of the covered veranda and knocked. "Agent Winchester, what are you..." Harvelle's voice was cut off when the door opened.

"You said five-thirty, Sir." Dean was surprised his voice was so steady. Novak had awesome legs.  _His thighs were thick and_... Dean blinked. He hadn't shaved either... and that was a whole other fantasy...

"So, I did." Novak stepped outside. " _Will_ you be able to keep up, Agent Winchester?" The man had asked him that before, but this time Dean was ready for his teasing.

"I'd bet money on it, Mr. Vice President." Novak gave the slightest of nods and then greeted the other agents. They all did a few stretches and then without a word, Novak set out at a steady run. No lightweight jogging for this dude, he was pounding the asphalt. The Secret Service made their agents do PT tests every year, so Dean kept in shape. Damn right, he could keep up. When they left the driveway and headed north on Observatory Circle, Harvelle increased her pace and pulled ahead. Dean and Henrickson took their places at the Vice President's sides. The other two agents and SUV followed. 

Dean's service pistol, Sig Sauer P22, was tucked into the waistband of his shorts and it was already chafing his skin. Harvelle led them on a three-mile loop and brought them back to Novak's residence. According to Ketch, Sundays were when he would go over the week's itinerary with the President, then he met with her daily to discuss any changes or additions. Dean supposed he was to do the same with Novak. 

Novak called out a thank you, which Dean thought was pretty nice, before heading up the steps. Dean was right on his heels. Novak came close to shutting the door in his face. "Yes?"

"Don't you usually go over your schedule each morning?" Why was the guy looking at him like he'd grown another head? Had he already fucked up?

"Well... no," Novak said, his confusion evident in his face. His flushed face, sweaty and...  _Jesus Christ, Winchester_. He's the fucking Vice President.

"Oh. Agent Ketch and the President have an early meeting on Sundays to talk about the upcoming week. Then on weekdays, they just have a short briefing in case there are changes. If that's a problem, we can wait until you go into the office on Monday?" Dean phrased the last part as a question. Why was Novak looking at him like that?

 "I'm sorry... what was the question?" Shit, Novak wasn't even listening to him. He probably thought he was an idiot.

"I was instructed to meet with you every morning, but if you don't want to, that's cool. I will need a copy of your itinerary though. You can do it via email," Dean said, his words coming out in a rush. At this rate, he'd be transferred before the day was out.

"No... no. I'm sorry, Agent Winchester. It's just that your predecessor did not..." Castiel just stopped talking. Dean could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He was thinking about Trenton. Oh, yeah, Ketch and the Chief had filled him in.  _Bigoted m_ _otherfucker_.

"Trenton was an ass." The words spewed out before he had a chance to reel them back in. He saw Henrickson lift an eyebrow and Harvelle stifled a laugh. "God... I'm sorry, Sir." Yep, he was going to be writing traffic tickets before noon. The Chief was going to have his balls.

Wait. Was that a smile? "Agent, we should both stop apologizing to each other. And from my observations and Chief Singer's report, Trenton  _wa_ _s_  an ass. Let's start fresh. I will add an early meeting with you to my schedule. Perhaps during breakfast. That way, I won't be so sweaty." Novak lifted his shirt and fanned his stomach. Dean swallowed. Hard. 

"Of course, Mr. Vice President. And breakfast is when?"

"Seven. I usually eat in the kitchen." He watched Novak bound up the stairs and he turned, closing the door behind him. The agents all seemed to find something interesting on the ground.

"What?" When no answers came, he huffed and set a brisk pace back to their building.

He showered, dressed in his suit, and plugged his earpiece back in. After double-checking everyone's assignments, he walked back to the residence. He waited until his watch showed exactly seven-thirty before knocking,

Again, it was Novak that answered the door. His hair was damp from the shower and he was wearing jeans and a white button-down. His feet were bare. It was fucking weird seeing him in running shorts, but this... this was almost like porn. Up until now, Dean figured the guy lived in a suit.

"Come in, Agent Winchester... " He stepped back and frowned. "Would it be against protocol if I were to call you Dean?" Dean could only shake his head. "Good. That's good. Benny is just finishing our breakfast." He started leading Dean toward the kitchen. 

The tall Cajun looked up from the professional range.  _Benny Lafitte. Born and raised in_ _Lou_ _i_ _siana_ _. Forty-three. Married to one Andrea Lafitte, a flight_ _attendant_ _for Delta. Was a cook_ _in a Creole restaurant in New Orleans before_ _Castiel_ _Novak discovered him and hired him to be his personal chef after the election. No criminal record._  "Java is over there," he said, nodding toward a ridiculously expensive looking coffeemaker. Sugar, creamer, and a thick, ceramic mug sat next to it.

Out of his element, Dean kept one eye on the Vice President and another on the coffeemaker. It smelled amazing. He inhaled the aroma of cinnamon and a hint of chocolate.

"How do you like your eggs?" The chef was looking at him, spatula aloft.

"Eggs? No, I'm good. Coffee's fine," Dean stuttered. One didn't just plop down in the Vice President's kitchen and eat with him. At least, the hired help didn't. Art would have a fucking coronary. 

"Nonsense. You need to eat," Novak interjected, already pulling out one of the stools. "Benny uses this pepper crusted bacon that is like nectar of the gods."

"I have it sent up from Baton Rouge," Benny said, seemingly comfortable sharing his morning with Novak.

"I'm good," Dean repeated, clutching his coffee mug like a lifeline.

"Sit down and eat, Dean." Was that an order? Jesus fucking Christ, Novak just went all Dom on him. It was hot. Really hot. Dean sat.

"Scrambled is good," Dean mumbled.

A minute later, a plate filled with eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and slices of fresh cantaloupe was sat in front of him. Benny smirked. He  _might_ just hate Benny Lafitte.

Focusing on his table manners was exhausting.  _Keep_ _your_ _mouth closed when you chew_ _. Don't gulp the orange juice. Take small bites. Don't talk with your mouth full._  

"Sundays are usually spent at home. I try to catch up on personal correspondence. If I'm preparing for an event or meeting, my staff may join me for dinner, but that is not the case tonight." Dean swallowed the food in his mouth and nodded. "I took the liberty of printing out my weekly itinery." He pushed a piece of paper toward Dean and Dean snapped it onto his clipboard.

Benny chose that moment to step out of the kitchen. From his study of the blueprints, Dean knew he'd gone into the pantry.

"Agent... Dean... Can I ask you something?"

"You're the boss," Dean answered a little more flippantly than he'd intended. "I mean, sure... Mr. Vice President."

"How do you and Agent Ketch... never mind, that is none of my business." He stood abruptly and carried his plate to the sink.

Panic set in. "Ketch? We're just friends." He closed his eyes. At least, he thought they were still friends.

Novak looked confused. "My mistake. I just thought I saw something at 1789." Something? What? They were careful, especially once they'd noticed all the suits.

He had to change the subject. "Yeah, so... your boyfriend. Is he coming over tonight?" Dean bit his tongue. What the hell was he thinking? Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Number One rule of dealing with the Vice President. No personal questions. Ever.

"As Facebook says, 'It's complicated'. Dating me isn't easy apparently." Dean felt a surge of anger toward Mick Davies. In the boyfriend lottery, Novak was quite a prize. Great looks, smart as fuck, and a wicked sense of humor. But, what could Dean say. He was already deep in 'don't go there' territory with Novak. "I'm sorry. Please forget this conversation."

"What conversation, Sir?" Dean slid off his stool just as Benny reappeared. "If there isn't anything else you need, I will be doing my rounds."

"Thank you, Dean. That will be all."

Outside, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped under the portico and lifted his wrist. He spoke into the tiny microphone. All members of his team were where they were supposed to be and it was quiet. He spent the rest of his day walking the perimeter of the house and getting to know his team. Charlie and Jo were forces to be reckoned with, and he really liked them. Victor Henrickson was an enigma. He was all business, but a dry sense of humor lurked under the surface. Michael and Cesar were easy going, but he'd trust them with his back. 

Later that evening, he turned things over to the night shift. In his car, on the way home, his phone rang. He saw Art's name on the screen. "Hey," he answered. Last week had put a strain on their already precarious relationship. Being together and having to watch every single word or gesture took its toll.

"How was your first day?" Dean could hear traffic noises and figured Art was off duty too.

"Good. It was fine. Novak's a nice guy." He wasn't about to tell Art about the breakfast or the boyfriend talk. He thought back on the call he'd had that afternoon from Novak regarding his mother's impending visit. The awkward formality was back, but then again, he couldn't afford to get too familiar with the man.

"He is." An uncomfortable silence descended and lasted until Dean turned onto Massachusetts Avenue. "Dean."

"This isn't going to work, is it?" Dean interjected quickly.

"You don't love me." It was stated matter-of-factly and for some reason that hurt. Was he incapable of loving someone? He'd only had one other honest-to-God relationship before Art and he'd tried so hard to be who she wanted. 

"Art..."

"I thought I was in love with you. I wanted to be in love with you. But with your new assignment, I realized my career is more important... God, I sound like a prick."

"Hey... we had a good run, babe," Dean murmured into the phone. The last thing he wanted was for Art to feel bad. 

"This is it then?" The statement was in the form of a question and for some reason, it made Dean feel better. As breakups went, this was one of the easiest.

"Let's grab a beer next weekend. I'll tell you how I shared this awesome bacon with the VP."

"What?" Dean laughed at Art's shocked tone.

"I'll tell you over a beer."

"I'll hold you to that, Dean." There was more awkward silence, but then Art spoke again. "I'm proud of you. You deserved this promotion and Novak is lucky to have you watching his back."

"Thanks, Art... Arthur."

"Goodbye, Dean." 

"Bye." Dean's thumb slid over the end button. He didn't remember the rest of his drive home. His thoughts were scattered. Maybe something was in the air. Novak and his boyfriend, him and Art... 

He dialed his brother as he unlocked his apartment.

"Dean, I was just getting ready to call you. How was your first day? I still can't believe you are working for the Vice President. He's such a nice guy."

"Calm down, Sammy. Quit your fangirling. He puts his pants on just like the rest of us."  _Th_ _ose shorts though_... "And how do you know he's a nice guy? The media lies."

"He was at the silent auction Thursday night. You would have known if you'd used the ticket I gave you," Sam said reproachfully. His brother was the director of the Washington Autism Society. He'd chucked his law practice aside when Toby was diagnosed with autism at four years old. He took up the reins to bring attention to finding help for the children and families affected by the disease. Dean was proud as fuck of his little brother.

"Sorry, Sammy. I was ass deep studying for the new gig."

"You're forgiven."

Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sam still pulled the pesky little brother shit. "Did you meet your goal?"

"We went over by twelve thousand," Sam said enthusiastically. 

"That's awesome," Dean said. Then his brain caught up with his ears. "You met Novak?"

"I just told you he came to the silent auction, Dean. He handed me a ten-thousand-dollar check. And didn't even bid on anything." Sam's tone grew more serious. "I think his nephew has autism."

"Jacob. He's ten."

"You've met him?"

"No. I'm the head of his security team, Sam. I have to know every person in his life, man."

"What's he like?"

"I've only known him for a day." Dean didn't need to mention the night at 1789. Sam would be on that like white on rice. He needed to throw his brother a bone though, so he followed up with, "He's a nice guy, I guess. He runs every morning, Sam. Every fucking morning. But hey, he eats bacon, so there's that."

"Is it true he plays the piano?" Piano? Yeah, there was a baby grand sitting in the formal living room by the big bay windows. How was he supposed to know if Novak played? It probably just came with the house, like the ugly pictures on the walls.

"I don't know, Sam. But hey, enough about him. The reason I called was to tell you to buy Eileen roses on your way home."

"Why," he asked suspiciously. 

"Does there have to be a reason? Just buy her some flowers and do some romantic shit for her."

"What's going on with you?"  _Again_ _with the suspicion_.  

"Nothing." Sam, being Sam, waited for Dean to crack. It took seconds. "I just can't lose her. You can't lose her. She's the best thing to happen to us."

"Eileen and I are fine, Dean. What's really going on?"

"Art and I... we aren't together anymore."

What possessed him to offer the agent breakfast? He could have just told him that he didn't do anything on Sundays and leave it at that, but no, he had to invite the man in for a meal. 

His shower was quick and he didn't bother to shave. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt, he ran down the stairs and came to an abrupt stop at the kitchen doorway. "We will be having a guest for breakfast." Benny lifted an eyebrow in question. "It's just Agent Winchester. He wants to go over my schedule for today."

"It's Sunday," Benny said, his accent thick.

"I know it's Sunday. Apparently, this is a thing the President does with her detail. I guess Trenton didn't think I deserved his time." He was talking fast and Benny was sure to pick up on his nervousness. Castiel heard the knock and with a panicked look at his chef, he sped toward the door. 

The agent had showered too and was wearing a newly pressed suit and dark tie. Castiel couldn't decide what he liked better, the professional look or the sweaty one. "Come in, Agent Winchester... " He moved to allow Dean entry and an errant thought came out of nowhere. "Would it be against protocol if I were to call you Dean?" 

The request must have stunned Dean because he shook his head and didn't seem to be able to find words. "Good. That's good. Benny is just finishing our breakfast." 

He spun on his heel and headed for the kitchen, knowing Dean would follow. "Java is over there," Benny called out to Dean. Castiel stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. It had been drilled into him after the election that he was to treat all junior staff members the same, polite, but not overly friendly. "How do you like your eggs?" At least Benny could exchange words with the man. Castiel felt foolish hovering around.

"Eggs? No, I'm good. Coffee's fine." Castiel observed the obviously flustered agent. So, he wasn't the only one nervous about this little meeting. 

He took a deep breath and responded. "Nonsense. You need to eat." He pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Benny uses this pepper crusted bacon that is like nectar of the gods." Benny told the agent where the bacon came from, but the agent was still being stubborn.

"Sit down and eat, Dean," Castiel said, but it came out like an order. Dean sat down so fast the stool scrapped across the floor.

"Scrambled is good." Castiel had to hold back a smile. They both began to eat and Benny concentrated on cleaning up the kitchen. While they ate, Castiel told him about his lack of plans for his day off.

Benny stepped inside the pantry and the door shut behind him. "Agent... Dean... Can I ask you something?"  _Shit. Shit. Shit._

"You're the boss...I mean, sure... Mr. Vice President."

"How do you and Agent Ketch... never mind, that is none of my business." He pushed back his stool and marched over to the sink with his plate.  _And_ for the second time that day, Castiel had put his foot in his mouth.

"Ketch? We're just friends," Dean said, somewhat stiffly.

Novak knew by the look on his face, that Dean was lying. "My mistake. I just thought I saw something at 1789." 

"Yeah, so... your boyfriend. Is he coming over tonight?" Dean had turned the tables on him. Now what? Maybe the rules about keeping junior staff at a distance was a good one after all.

He decided to be honest. "As Facebook says, 'It's complicated'. Dating me isn't easy apparently." He shrugged and added, "I'm sorry. Please forget this conversation."

"What conversation, Sir?" Dean stood. "If there isn't anything else you need, I will be doing my rounds." Benny stepped back into the room and looked at both of them, curiosity in his expression.

"Thank you, Dean. That will be all."

He heard the front door shut and without even looking at his chef, he said, "Not a word."

The snort of laughter followed him out of the kitchen. He'd met with prime ministers and royalty, but he'd never had a more awkward conversation. Why did he have to bring up Ketch? He blamed it on Dean's distracting freckles.

In his office, he sat down and opened his laptop. He had several personal emails from friends and family. One from Anna made him smile. She'd sent several pictures of Jacob laughing as he sat upon a horse. To most people, a child laughing is norma. For Jacob, suffering from Autism, it was a small miracle. He leaned back and stared at the screen. His sister's email said that Jacob loved the equine therapy facility she'd found in Shadow Hills, just north of their home in Los Angeles.

Checking the time, he frowned. It was only six in LA. Way too early to call her. He missed her. Growing up, he'd taken his job as big brother seriously even though it was only a one-year difference. In high school, things changed. Anna was a cheerleader dating the quarterback and popular while Castiel was coming to terms with his sexuality. She was his champion, as was her boyfriend. His parents had also been supportive and he'd had an easier time than most young people coming out.

It wasn't too early to call his mother though. Naomi Novak, a senator from Illinois, would be arriving in Washington tonight for a special session. Maybe she'd be able to have dinner with him tomorrow.

She answered on the first ring. They chatted for twenty minutes, mostly about Jacob's progress. His mother, a force to be reckoned with on the senate floor, was a typical grandmother when it came to Jacob. "My car is here, Castiel."

"Before you go, I wanted to see if you have time for dinner tomorrow night."

"I'll make time. Do you want to go out or stay in?" Before he could answer, she continued. "I would love some of Benny's jambalaya." Castiel chuckled.

"I will make sure he prepares it for you then."

"Will Mick be joining us? Your father and I really like him." Castiel sat silent for a second too long and her mother's instincts kicked in. "Oh, Castiel, what happened?"

"Lack of privacy. Life in a fishbowl. Stress – both mine and his. Shall I go on?"

"Your father hates my job, so I can empathize, Sweetheart."

"Dad doesn't hate your job. He's proud of you."

"I never said he wasn't proud, but he's always hated the travel, the occasional threats... the  _fishbowl_. I shall tell your father and have him put Mick in his next book. He can make his death painful and slow. A bullet through the head just won't do." 

Castiel found himself grinning. Chuck Novak, also known by his penname, Chuck Shurley, would do exactly what Naomi wanted. "No, mother. Mick and I parted amicably. We have decided a friendship is more his speed."

"Did you love him?" She was in mother mode and there wasn't a way out of this conversation.

"I thought I could one day."

"Well, good, that makes it easier to move on. Mr. Right is out there somewhere. You have so much to give someone, my sweet angel." She'd reverted to his childhood nickname and he rolled his eyes. That moniker was now his nickname with the Secret Service. Missouri got lucky with Scarlet. 

"You're my mother. You have to say those things," he countered.

"Pssf... have you ever known me to lie?"

"The tooth fairy. The Easter Bunny. And let's not forget Santa."

"Now, you're just being petty," her voice was laced with humor. "Okay, Darling, I really must go. I will see you tomorrow night... say around six?"

"Perfect. Goodbye, Mom." 

It would be great to see her. They got together every time she was in Washington, but with their busy schedules, usually they only had time for a quick lunch.

He thumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Benny had his head buried in his spice cabinet. "Would it be too much trouble to make your famous jambalaya for my mother tomorrow night?"

"For your mother... I'd do anything." Benny put his hand dramatically over his heart.

"Don't fall for her wiles. She just wants you to leave me and cook for her in Chicago."

Benny laughed and started his list for the dinner preparations.

Castiel left the kitchen and as he passed the window, he saw one of his detail walking across the property. It reminded him that he needed to tell Dean about his mother's visit. After he'd made a fool of himself at breakfast, he dreaded the call.

As soon as Dean was named head of his security detail, the agent's number was programmed into his phone. It only rang once. "Yes, Sir?"

"I wanted to inform you that my mother will be coming here for dinner tomorrow night."

"At the residence, Sir?"

"Yes. Her car should arrive around six."

"I will alert my team, Mr. Vice President." There was a brief pause before he added, "Will that be all, Sir?"

"Yes. Thank you, Agent Winchester." He winced as he lapsed into Dean's formal title.

  



	3. Chapter 3

The Monday morning jog went smoothly, as did the trip to the Eisenhower Building. The Vice President's car slid to a smooth stop and both Dean and Henrickson got out to escort Novak into his office. People thought the secret service jobs were exciting, but Dean begged to differ. Most of the time he'd spent on this detail was standing around. 

Today was no exception. Novak stayed in his office most of the day. Even lunch was brought in by an approved caterer. The two agents were relieved at noon by Harvelle and Cuevas. Henrickson recommended Off the Record, a small place within easy walking distance. Dean ordered the sliders. "Well, what do you think so far?" Henrickson asked, leaning back in the red upholstered chair. 

Dean shrugged. "Novak seems pretty chill. The running is getting old though."

Henrickson's belly laugh made Dean grin. "Trenton made the job harder for all of us. You can't listen to that crap day in and day out without it getting inside your head."

"I'm surprised he made it as far as he did. Didn't anyone care that he was a racist, homophobic piece of shit?"

"I heard tell he was recommended by the Speaker of the House," Henrickson said, his eyes darting around the room in typical agent fashion. They were all trained be alert even when not on duty. It became habit after a while.

"Figures," Dean muttered. "Hey, just so you know... I didn't request this position. I know you were next in line... I don't want you to think I came after your job."

"Don't even go there. I really didn't want it. My wife already hates my hours. All the responsibilities... better you than me."

That out of the way, Dean relaxed. The two men shared stories of their early careers and traded funny anecdotes about life in the DC area.

Back at the Vice President's office, Harvelle reported,  _Angel_  had not left the office. Dean still got a kick out of the nickname. At five, Dean's earpiece pinged and he was told Novak's car was downstairs. He rapped his knuckles on the door. Dean heard Novak tell him to come in and he stuck his head inside. "Sir, your car is waiting."

"Thank you, Dean. Could you give me another ten minutes?" Novak sat behind a massive desk. He was staring at a file folder, his press secretary stood beside him. Meg Masters had entered the man's office over an hour ago. She was a petite woman, but she had a mouth on her, according to the other agents.

"Yes, Sir." He nodded and shut the door. He spoke into the microphone unit at his wrist. "Angel will be out in fifteen." He heard an affirmative answer and leaned back to wait. Masters came out first.

"He's all yours, Sweet Cheeks." She sauntered away, her hips swaying saucily in her too-tight skirt.

Novak looked heavenward. "I must apologize for Meg. She failed the sexual harassment class."

"No problem, Mr. Vice President." Dean shrugged and led the way down the corridor. At the door to the outside, Harvelle and Cuevas waited. They went out first, opened the door to the Tahoe, and took their positions. Dean and Henrickson flanked Novak and together, they strode quickly to the waiting vehicle.

Henrickson moved to the SUV parked in front of it and got inside. Harvelle and Cuevas took the rear, and Dean got in the front seat of Novak's vehicle. The partition was up, but Dean could see him already talking on his phone.

With rush hour traffic, they pulled up to the residence at ten til six. Dean knew Senator Novak would be arriving shortly, so he stayed in place while his team moved the SUVs. A few minutes after the hour, a black Lincoln Towncar slid to a stop next to the portico. Dean moved forward quickly to open the rear door. A leg extended, clad in a nice, red pump. Dean couldn't help admire the shapely calf. He extended his hand like a gentleman and helped her alit. Naomi Novak didn't look old enough to be the mother of the Vice President. Her brunette hair was swept up on a messy bun, and her scarlet dress stopped just above her knee. "Thank you, Agent," she said to him with a smile. "Ah, there he is." 

Dean followed her gaze. Novak was coming down the steps at a trot, a big smile on his face. Guess they had a good relationship, Dean thought, trying to beat back his bitterness. His own mother died when he was barely four. Dad did the best he could, but no one was there to bake cookies or help him with his questions about sex. He'd bet his next paycheck, Naomi Novak baked birthday cakes for her kids.

He watched them embrace. "I've missed you, Castiel," she said loud enough for Dean to hear.

"I've missed you too, Mom." 

She pulled back and looked at him, her hands clasping his biceps. "You aren't sleeping... and you've lost weight." Dean smirked. Seems like the Vice President isn't above getting fussed over by his mommy. Then Novak's eyes met his and Dean did really try to hid his grin.

"Mother," Castiel said firmly. He steered her around and up the steps. The door closed behind them and Dean nodded to the driver. 

"You gonna wait or come back later?"

"Senator Novak has to be back at her hotel by eight-thirty for a conference call. I'll just stick around."

Dean saluted him with his forefinger and moved off toward the building that housed his team. It was time for him to do his daily reports before leaving things for the next shift. He threw up his hand at Bradbury and she returned it with the Vulcan greeting. He was still grinning when he sat down at his desk. Harvelle stuck her head inside his office. "Hey, boss, Bergeron just called, he's got some issues at home. I told him I could cover for him."

"Don't you have a date tonight?" He'd overheard her and Charlie that morning talking about it.

"Yeah, but I can cancel."

"Fuck that. I don't have anything going on. I'll take the shift."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind."

"Go... have fun," he waved her away. It wasn't like he had anyone waiting at home. 

At eight, he was there to make sure Senator Novak was safely in her car and off the premises. As she got into the car, she'd told him to take care of her son. The longing for the mother he'd lost resurfaced. To keep those feelings at bay, he did a perimeter sweep with a couple of the night shift guys and was heading back to the path that led to the Shack, as he nicknamed the control building, when Benny stepped out the side door. The household staff wasn't large, just the chef, the housekeeper, and a woman that came in three days a week to do laundry and anything the housekeeper couldn't handle. They parked their vehicles behind the pool house, along with the lawn and pool guys. "Night, Benny."

"Goodnight, Agent," he said, stopping so Dean could catch up.

"Call me Dean."

"Aren't you working late?" 

"Pulling a double."

"Did you get to eat?" 

"Not yet. I think the guys keep sandwich stuff in the fridge. I'll fix me something in a little while." The thought of a peanut butter or ham sandwich made him yearn for pizza delivery, but that wasn't allowed.

"I made plenty of jambalaya. It's in the fridge. Help yourself." Dean grinned. He might just start to like the guy. Then he remembered whose house it was.

"The Veep might not like me rummaging through his kitchen."

"Novak's cool. He's usually in bed by ten or so. And you've got the keys. The leftovers are in the blue plastic containers on the bottom shelf. Help yourself."

"Thanks, Benny. See you tomorrow."

"Breakfast with the bossman again?" Benny was looking at him shrewdly.

"No. That was way too weird. I'll keep my meetings with him limited to after he gets to his office." Weekdays would be easier to avoid that kind of thing.

"Let me know how you like the food," Benny called out, already heading for his car. 

Dean's stomach growled around ten-thirty. He wasn't going to take Benny up on the offer to raid Novak's fridge. Boundaries were a  _thing_ , right? The Shack had a small alcove which housed a small refrigerator and a microwave. He found a loaf of bread stuck behind an older-than-dirt toaster. The jar of peanut butter seemed to mock him. "Fuck it."

He told the surveillance tech he was going to the residence and headed across the lawn. At the back door, he pulled out his key ring and unlocked the door. The light above the stove was left on and gave the room a glow bright enough for him to see his way around. His plan was to take the leftovers back to the Shack and heat them up there.

The fridge was awesome. Dean stood in awe at the food. He knew Novak hosted dinner parties for dignitaries and heads of state, but damn... He located the blue containers and opened the one on top. The smell of bourbon whiffed up and he sighed in delight. Bread pudding with a whiskey sauce. Heaven. He took it over to the table and chairs they'd eaten breakfast at on Sunday. After setting it down, he began opening drawers until he found the flatware. 

The dessert was an explosion of awesomeness in his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored it. Too bad Benny was straight and married. Dean would have proposed on the spot.

He had another forkful halfway to his mouth when Novak walked into the kitchen. Dean sat frozen for about ten seconds and then he stood up quickly. Novak yelped, "Jesus Christ..." 

Frozen in place, Dean clutched the fork like a weapon. Novak seemed to gather himself and then narrowed his eyes. "Is that my bread pudding?"

"Uh..." Benny set him up. They would never find the fucker's body. "Benny said there were leftovers... Sir." He imagined Chief Singer's face when he found out about this. He was going to get busted down to uniform and spend the rest of his career writing parking tickets.

"So, Benny gave you permission to eat  _my_  food?"

"I'm sorry..." Dean reached for the container, snapped the lid on quickly, and pushed it across the table. "I only took one bite. I'll pay for it... Sir." He was done. He would be the agent other agents talked about.  _Did you hear what that Winchester guy did_...

Novak crossed his arms and that's when Dean noticed the dude was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and that was it. Those abs... Dean's eyes flew upward. Christ, he couldn't have lustful thoughts about  _him._  Anyone, but him. He took a step back. 

"You'll pay for it? You ate the Vice President's midnight snack. How much do you think that is worth?"

"I... I don't know... Sir." Novak burst out laughing. The kind of laugh that made you double over. Dean narrowed his eyes. Son of a bitch.

Novak seemed to pull himself together and wiped at the corners of his eyes. "You should see your face." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "I was just fucking with you, Agent."

" _Very_  funny,  _Sir._ " Dean couldn't hold back the sarcasm. He might be the Vice President, but the man was an asshole. Novak poked his finger against the plastic container. 

"Did you at least save me a little?"

"I only took one bite before you waltzed in here and scared the shit out of me." Hey, if the Vice President could use the word  _fuck_ , Dean could say  _shit_.

"It is my house, Dean. I think I'm allowed to waltz anywhere I want." Novak called him Dean. Did that mean he was back in his good graces?

"At..." Dean looked at his watch. "eleven-fifteen? Shouldn't you be tucked up in that big bed of yours?" Something passed over Novak's face, but it was gone before Dean could figure out what it was. 

Ignoring Dean's comment, Novak asked, "Didn't your shift end at eight?"

"I'm pulling a double, Sir."

"Well,  _Agent Winchester,_  since we are both awake and there is a container of delicious bread pudding just waiting to be eaten, perhaps you'd like to share." 

Dean was tempted. That shit was awesome, but logic prevailed. "I don't think that would be appropriate, Mr. Vice President."

Novak tilted his head to the side and stared at him. Dean couldn't have looked away if his life depended on it. As if on their own volition, his teeth gnawed on his lower lip. "Somehow, _Agent Winchester_ , I don't believe you are a stickler for following rules." 

Fuck. The way he said Dean's name like that. Gravelly and low. Dean's mind felt muddled. What had he said? Oh... yeah. "What makes you say that?"

Instead of answering, Novak, opened a drawer and got out another fork. He sat down and indicated the seat across from him.  Dean had no choice. As soon as his ass hit the chair, Novak pushed the container into the middle of the table and stuck his fork in it. Dean followed the bit to his mouth. "Eat."

Fuck. Were they going to eat out of the same container? That seemed oddly intimate. Dean took a bite. Cas took another one and then sat back. "To answer your question... despite what you said about Agent Ketch – and trust me when I say, I don't give a rat's ass about co-workers dating – I do think you've been  _together._  I'm pretty good at reading body language." Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but Novak held up his hand. "Like I said, I don't care. Moving on... after my run every morning, you are not as quiet as you think. I did appreciate the  _colorful_  'freaky fast blue-eyed angel' much more than 'motherfucker'."

Dean's head dropped to the table. The wonderfully delicious bread pudding was his last meal. Singer was going to kill him...  _dead_.

"And last, but not least, for a Secret Service agent, you are not as stealthy as you should be." Dean's head lifted. What now? And was Novak grinning? He was like a fucking cat, playing with a mouse before going in for the kill. "For the record, I don't think your subordinates picked up on the fact that you stare at my ass."

Dean's mouth dropped open. He pushed back the chair and stood. "I'll have my letter of resignation on Chief Singer's desk in the morning,  _Sir_." 

"Sit down and stop being a drama queen." _Drama queen?_  Did he just fuckin' call Dean Winchester a drama queen?

"I've overstepped the boundaries set out by the United States Secret Service and by tendering my resignation, I don't see how that makes me a drama queen," Dean said, his voice tense with suppressed anger. 

"Sit down, Dean," Novak leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "I was just teasing you... but that last part, about my ass... I made that one up. Your indignant reaction tells me that you have stared at my ass though. I am truly flattered, but please don't let Agent Ketch know. I think he could really hurt me."

"Ketch and I broke up." The words were out before he could think. Novak had riled him up and now, he'd confessed to something that could fuck up Art's career too. He really was going down in flames.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He looked like he really meant it. "Were you together long? And for the love of God, sit down."

Dean sat. He nervously pulled at his tie. He was sitting in the Vice President's kitchen and said Vice President wanted to talk about boys. All they needed was a freakin' pint of ice cream. The bread pudding would have to do. Dean picked up his fork and took a large bite. Mouth full, he mumbled, "A year."

"Mick and I were together three months."

Monday dragged. It was rare that Castiel was a clock watcher. Some nights, he didn't leave his office until eight or nine. Part of his mood was excitement of spending an evening with his mother. Agent Winchester wasn't helping matters though. Did they give the Secret Service modeling classes? The man seemed to know just how to stand to show his body perfectly. 

Finally, he got to leave for the day. Dean escorted him into his waiting Tahoe and through the partition, Castiel watched him get in beside his driver. His phone rang just as he got comfortable. "Anna. I meant to call you Sunday."

"Hello to you too, Castiel. Did you see the pictures?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I did. He looked so happy. You are an amazing mother."

"Shut up. Mom said she was having dinner with you tonight."

"Benny is cooking her jambalaya."

"That isn't fair," she exclaimed. "Sometimes I hate you."

"No, you don't. You are jealous of me though. My looks. My charm. My chef."

"Asshole." Castiel laughed. He really missed living near each other. "Are you going to Mom and Dad's for Labor Day?"

"I was planning on it." Castiel said. He'd already added it to his calendar. That meant that Dean would be traveling with him. He'd be assigned one of the guest rooms in his parents' beautiful lakeside home. 

"Castiel... are you even listening to me?"

"I'm sorry, Anna. I was just thinking about Labor Day."

She was quiet for a few seconds. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "Mom told me about Mick." 

"Of course, she did. She cannot mind her own business," Castiel said with a huff of laughter. "Don't worry. I'm not all broken up about it. We weren't madly in love. Though I do miss the sex."

"He was yummy. I'll bet he could really..."

"Stop," Castiel shouted, his eyes going to the front seat. They couldn't possibly hear him, but still...

"You never share any of the good stuff," she pouted.

In retaliation, he said, "And how is Luc in bed?"

It backfired when she laughed. "Dreamy. He knows how to use his tongue." 

"I'm hanging up now." 

"I'll see you soon, Castiel. I love you."

"Love you too," he said and touched the end icon. He was still smiling when the SUV stopped in front of his residence. He didn't have time to change, but did lose the tie. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a car pull up. The wonderful aroma of jambalaya filled the house. He couldn't wait to dig into it.

Cas opened the door just in time to see Dean helping his mother out of the car. She'd appreciate his chivalry. Naomi loved gentlemen. Her eyes met his and he grinned. They moved toward each other and he caught her up in a hug. "I've missed you, Castiel." 

"I've missed you too, Mom." 

In typical mother fashion, she stared at him intently. "You aren't sleeping... and you've lost weight." He groaned softly and his eyes found Dean. He'd obviously heard his mother's words and was grinning at Castiel's discomfort. 

"Mother." He knew his tone was harsh, so he turned her and led her inside. "Sorry. It's kind of embarrassing when you go all mother on me in front of people," he whispered.

"I'm sure they all have mothers too, Castiel," she said. "Oh, the smell... I'm in heaven. Where is my Cajun dreamboat?"

Dinner was wonderful and he ate entirely too much. He didn't even have room for dessert, though he did try a bite of the bread pudding. The meal finished, they sat in the living room, wineglasses in hand, and talked until it was time for her to return to her hotel. 

Dean was leaning against the car talking to his mother's driver when they came onto the veranda. "God, he's pretty," she whispered conspiratorially.

Playing dumb, Castiel remarked, "Mother, your driver is young enough to be your son. Shame on you. What would dad say?"

"I wasn't talking about my driver... and your father would tell me to shop all I want, just don't buy anything." Castiel rolled his eyes. His parents had been married over forty years. Their marriage was solid and based on love and respect.

At the car, Naomi's driver opened the door for her. She kissed Castiel on the cheek and bent to get inside. Dean took her hand to assist her. "I hope you enjoyed your visit, Mrs. Novak."

"I did." She looked right at Dean and whispered something to him. Dean nodded, smiled, and shut the car door.

Much later, Castiel was reading in bed when a craving for Benny's bread pudding hit him.  The small bite he'd had earlier hadn't even whet his appetite.  He slipped out of bed and didn't bother to grab a robe. He was alone... who was going to complain about him eating in his pajama pants and no shirt?  His bare feet on the stairs barely made a sound. 

The stove light emitted a soft glow and he headed straight for the refrigerator. The scrape of a chair on the tile floor made Castiel yelp and spin around. "Jesus Christ..." 

Dean stood on the other side of the table, his tie askew. He held a fork in his right hand. "Is that my bread pudding?"

It had been fun to tease Dean. He may have pushed things too far, but it had felt so good to have someone to talk to. Someone that didn't expect anything from him. And yeah, the drama queen comment might have crossed the line, but his righteous indignation was hilarious. 

He knew Dean hadn't meant to let his relationship with Ketch out of the bag. Castiel really had been fishing for information. He'd almost convinced himself that they were just friends.

"Mick and I were together three months." But Dean knew that. He had dossiers on everyone in Castiel's life. It was his job to know everything. "A year is a long time. Was it because you got assigned to my detail?"

Dean shrugged. "That was part of it." He took another bite of bread pudding. "Art... Agent Ketch, is a great guy. I just wasn't ready to settle down." 

"In general? Or with him?" Castiel knew he was being nosy, but he couldn't help it. He was drawn to Dean. Dean pursed his lips and took another bite. Castiel pushed his own fork into the gooey goodness. 

"I didn't love him." It was said so matter-of-fact that Castiel gaped at him. Dean saw the look. "Hey, I tried, man. And I never lied to him. He knew I was damaged goods from the start." Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean's assessment of himself.

"Damaged goods? Who told you that?" He barely contained his fury. Thankfully, Dean didn't pick up on it since he was intent on poking at the container with his fork.

"No one had to tell me. I just haven't ever been able to hold onto someone. Art was different... ya know? He really cared." He let out a soft bark of laughter. "Hell, he even wanted us to move in together. Then this new gig came along and he realized he loved his job more than me."

"Then he is a fool," Castiel said bitterly.

"No." Dean looked up at him. "I think we both based our relationship on the things we had in common. Work... music...  You can't do that, man." Suddenly, Dean seemed to realize who he was talking to. "Sir. I'm sorry. I should go." The chair scrapped again and it sounded harsh to Castiel's ears. "I'll see you in the morning, Sir."

Before Castiel could react, Dean was gone. He threw his fork onto the table in a fit of anger. They'd shared so much. It was nice to find a friend. But Dean wasn't a friend, was he? Castiel needed to remember that he was the Vice President and Dean's job was to protect him. A relationship with him would be worse than the one with Mick. They'd be under a microscope constantly and it could jeopardize Dean's career. _Relationship_? He pounded his head on the table. 

Dean sat up and looked around. Where was... oh. He'd done a double and caught a catnap in the bunkroom. He pressed the button on his phone to stop the insistent noise of his alarm. He'd taken a two-hour break, but now it was time to get his ass up. 

Not bothering to take a shower since he be sweating like a pig in less than an hour, he changed into his running clothes, and headed to the break room. He dropped a couple of bucks into the jar and grabbed a package of Pop Tarts and a bottle of orange juice.

"You look like hell," Dean turned to see Victor with a travel mug of coffee.  _Coffee_. He needed it.

"I'm getting too fucking old to pull doubles," Dean replied, already putting one of the little cups into the Keurig machine.

"We can pull in one of the other guys to run with Angel if you want to sit this one out," Victor offered.

Dean was tempted. After their late night discussion, he really didn't want to face Novak. He'd stepped over the line. Eating with and talking to him had been a huge mistake. A mistake of global proportions. "Nah, I'll do it." 

As soon as the team got to the front of the residence, Novak stepped outside. He didn't make eye contact with Dean, and Dean wasn't about to look at him. He included everyone in his 'Good morning', and started his warmup. Dean and the rest of the detail did the same. This morning Novak set a brutal pace and Dean felt light-headed by the time they'd returned. Novak thanked them and disappeared inside without a backward glance at Dean.  _Fine_. Guess he wouldn't have to say no to a breakfast invite after all.

Collapsing on the lawn, Dean covered his eyes with his forearm. "I'm dying." He heard Jo laughing. "I can end you, Harvelle."

"You can try," she countered and Dean heard the other guys whistling and catcalling at her challenge. 

"I wouldn't want to hurt a girl," he said sarcastically. His legs were still trembling from exertion, but he needed to shower before it was time to get Novak to the West Wing today. He started to stand and Harvelle reached out a hand to help him up. Before he knew it, he'd been flipped and landed on the grass with a breathless 'oof'. He glared at her and she smiled.

"Time?" He called out to Victor. 

"Five Fifty-eight." 

"Two minutes," he said and lunged for her and knocked her backwards. She rolled to the side and jumped to her feet, grinning.

"It's on, Bossman."

What he had on strength and stature, she made up for with dexterity. She was good, but he was better, if only by his stubbornness alone. When Victor called time, both were flat on their backs breathing heavily. He reached out a fist and she bumped it with her own. "I'd take you to watch my back any day, Harvelle." Her pleased look almost made up for the aches all over his body.

They all took quick showers and met back at the house. It was time to get  _the man_  to work.

The Tahoe rolled to a stop and Dean got out to open the door for Novak. The Vice President jogged down the steps and nodded to Dean before getting inside. Dean shut it and then got in beside the driver. "Let's go." He lifted his wrist and spoke. "Angel in transit."

The three SUVs were waved into the White House compound and Dean's team surrounded Novak until he got inside. The two marines guarding the door, moved quickly to open it for the Vice President and his detail. Victor and Dean followed close behind him. Jo and Cesar would be in later to relieve them for breaks and lunch. 

Dean kind of dreaded today. This was his first day in the West Wing as the head of Novak's detail. Art would be here. How was he supposed to act? Friendly? Stiffly professional? And now that Novak knew they used to be a thing... Dean was freakin' out. Why couldn't Novak always work in the Eisenhower Building? Why was he asking himself stupid questions?

Novak paused at his secretary's desk and went over his schedule. Dean and Victor took their places by the entry and Dean let his team know that the Angel was safe and sound. 

A slim, well-dressed man sauntered down the hall toward them. Balthazar Roche, Novak's Chief of Staff. Dean recognized him from his picture. He nodded to Victor and then looked at Dean. "You're new."

"Yes, Sir."

"You're also extremely handsome. You ever model?" Dean swallowed uncomfortably.

"No, Sir."

"Tis a shame. You'd look good in panties," he said smoothly before heading for Novak. Victor was grinning and Dean flipped him finger. Apparently, no one in Novak's cabinet took sexual harassment seriously. He narrowed his eyes as Roche greeted Novak. Did he just kiss the Vice President's cheek? Dean bristled. No one should get _that_  close to Novak. After the two men disappeared into Novak's office, Dean found he couldn't relax. He shuffled in place until Victor growled at him. 

"What is wrong with you? If you've got to take a piss, just say so."

"I don't need to piss," Dean muttered, but offered no explanation, because he didn't have one. He took a deep breath and let his training take over. He could stand in place for hours without moving. His eyes took everything in from the numbers flashing above the elevator to the man at the end of the hall on his phone. Dean recognized him as one of Art's team. 

Roche came out of Novak's office less than an hour later. He threw a playful wink at Dean before heading for the conference room at the end of the hall. Dean remembered Novak had a staff meeting this morning followed by a meeting in the Oval Office at ten.

He watched as Novak's entire staff began to arrive. He kept a running count. Novak and his speech writer, Billie Berry, were the only ones left. He glanced at his watch to check the time just as Novak opened his door. His eyes locked with Dean's and then he quickly looked away. Victor and Dean fell into step behind him. They'd just reached the door to the conference room when Berry came running up, her long curls in disarray. "Sorry... traffic," she said to Novak. The door shut behind them. 

"If I wasn't married..." Victor said to the closed door.

"Berry? She's beautiful, but I think she'd eat you alive," Dean teased. They joked for a while about women they found attractive. 

Once that subject had reached the end of its course, Victor asked, "Have you decided who is going to London next month?" 

"Yeah, I've got it worked out." A Secret Service team, including K9 handlers, would be going to London two weeks before the Vice President's scheduled visit to secure the hotel, motorcade vehicles, and all the other technical details that were required when someone like Novak visited another country. Dean, Victor, Jo, and Cesar would be on board Air Force Two with Novak and the advance team would meet them at Heathrow. 

It wasn't until after lunch that Dean saw Art. He was standing in front of one of the press rooms. "Give me a sec," he told Victor and his partner kept walking. Art smiled at him. "We still on for a beer?"

"Absolutely." Art seemed happy to see him and for the first time since they decided to call it quits, Dean thought their friendship would come out unscathed. They made their plans and Dean caught up with Victor. They relieved Jo and Cesar, taking their places outside Novak's office.

"Agent Winchester?" Dean looked up when Hannah, Novak's secretary called his name. "Vice President Novak would like to see you in his office." He looked at Victor as if his partner had all the answers. Victor shrugged like it was a common occurrence to get called into the Vice President's office.

He walked across the carpet, past Hannah's desk, and paused at the door. She frowned. "You don't have to knock. He's expecting you."  _Of course, he was._  Dean opened the door and entered the inner sanctum. He'd toured it when he was shadowing Art, but now, Novak sat behind the desk. He was watching Dean.

"Come in, Dean. You don't have to look like you're facing the principal." It sure as fuck felt like it. He walked closer to the desk, focusing on Novak's sunglasses perched on his desk instead of the man himself. He stood behind one of the chairs. "Sit down, please."

Dean sat, his body ramrod straight. "If this is about last night, I know I was too familiar and I apologize, Sir. It will never happen again." Novak's brow furrowed in a crease that shouldn't have made him even more hot.

"If I recall correctly, I was just as _familiar_  with you, Dean. Did you really think I called you in here to reprimand you?" All Dean could do was shrug his shoulders and when Novak rolled his eyes, Dean almost smiled at the absurdity of it. "I've read your file. You are quite intelligent, so stop acting like a dumbass." Dean's eyes widened and then he grinned.

"I don't think the Vice President of the United States should use the word dumbass." 

Novak's lips twitched and he interlaced his fingers on his desk. "You are correct. It was fucking disrespectful." He said it with such seriousness that Dean couldn't help it, he burst into laughter. Novak responded with a grin. "Should we get down to business now?"

"Yes, Sir," Dean straightened but he didn't feel as awed and weirdly terrified by the man in front of him now. Novak was pretty cool. 

"I thought we should discuss my upcoming trip to London and then my vacation to Chicago for Labor Day." Dean had London down, but Chicago was new.

"Chicago?" Dean knew Novak's mother and father lived in Chicago in some huge house on a lake.

"Yes, my parents have a small gathering of friends and family for the holiday. I would like to leave that Friday morning and return late Monday night, if that's alright with you."

"Yeah, sure, Sir." Dean began making lists in his head. Usually, on vacations, the Vice President's detail was smaller because the places weren't disclosed to the media. He would definitely be on the London trip, but Novak might want...

"I am requesting your presence on the trip. I'm not sure how many of your team members will accompany us, but you can book them in one of the hotels near my parents' home. There is an extra guest room for your use. It will be lowkey. We are private when it comes to things like this. Dad loves to grill and between Anna and my mother, you will probably gain about ten pounds. Not sure if you like the water, but expect to get out in my father's boat." Dean was still stuck on the part about the guest room. Novak was staring at him. God, his eyes were beautiful. "Why are you staring at me as if I were crazy?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I... I'll put the plans in motion and let you know if I have any questions." Like  _what the fuck_... or  _you really want me to stay at your parents' house_?

At four, Dean got a call from Charlie telling him about a package arriving for Novak. He told her he'd take a look when he got back to the Shack. All packages were x-rayed and ran under a K9's nose before getting anywhere near the Veep. Protocol was to have a senior agent open the box after those steps were taken, to clear it before giving it to Novak.

They delivered Novak to his residence around six-thirty and then Dean found himself staring at a box wrapped in plain brown paper. The return address was from a place in Los Angeles called  _Swallows and Peters_. Was that a law firm? He took a second to grin at the absurdity of the names. Poor smucks. He flipped over the report from Charlie. The x-ray was inconclusive, but the dogs didn't alert on it. He took it into the enforced concrete room made for situations like this. Charlie worried her bottom lip. "Should we call the bomb squad?"

"The dogs didn't alert on it. I doubt it's explosives," Dean told her. This was what he was trained for... to protect the Angel at all costs. "Go on out and close the door." The soft clank of metal against metal was eerie. He put on latex gloves and took out his pocket knife to slit the tape, moving slow and easy. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He pushed the flaps back to reveal a folded piece of red paper on top of Styrofoam peanuts. He opened it. 

Written in bold ink were the words  _From_ _your sister, Anna, in your time of need_. Dean read them twice. Anna Milton did live in LA, but the package wasn't from her address. He took out handfuls of the packing material and tossed them on the table. His fingers hit something solid and he pulled it out. "Holy mother of God," he whispered when he saw what he held in his hand. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Operation Ignore Dean Winchester_ lasted approximately eighteen hours. Balthazar, his Chief of Staff, was the one that reminded him that his Chicago trip wasn't on the calendar and he'd have to tell his head of security. All in all, his meeting with Dean had gone fairly well, other than the fact that he thought Castiel was going to reprimand him.  _For being too friendly_. Castiel was still shaking his head over that one. 

On the drive home, Castiel watched the back of Dean's head through the partition. He really was unfairly pretty. He sat back and relaxed as the SUV sped through DC traffic. His thoughts turned to his morning run. He'd purposefully ran faster and harder than usual. Was he trying to punish Dean?  _Maybe_. 

He'd been ready to grab his shower when he heard laughter from the front yard. Curious, he'd gone to the window and looked out just in time to watch Agent Harvelle and Dean fighting... well, not fighting since the other agents seemed to be cheering them on. Trenton had been so stand-offish to the other agents. Castiel smiled. Their jobs were so stressful, it was nice to see his detail relaxed and having fun.  

That evening, he was dropped off and quickly shed his coat and tie. He was starving. Meg had ordered tuna salad for lunch. He hated tuna. It smelled like cat food. She knew he hated it. She was still pissed at him for refusing to make his breakup with Mick public knowledge. 

"Benny, please tell me you've got dinner ready."  

Benny turned his head and grinned. "Spaghetti with meatballs." Castiel's mouth began to water. Benny's version of the Italian classic was worth writing poetry about. He sat down at the kitchen table and waited while Benny plated a large helping.  

He was halfway through his meal and discussing the trials of having a flight attendant for a spouse, when there was a knock at the back door. Benny waved him back down in his seat and opened it. "Agent Winchester," Benny announced and stepped aside for the agent to enter. He was carrying a large box. 

Curious, Castiel pointed at it with his fork. "What's that?" Dean looked shifty and wouldn't make eye contact.  

"Yeah... you got a package today." Still no eye contact.  

"Is it important?" Dean's skin darkened to a lovely shade of pink.  

"Maybe?" The word was more of a squeak that Dean's normal baritone. 

"Well, what is it?" Dean looked at Benny and then at a spot about three feet over Castiel's head. 

"It appears to be a gift from your sister,  _Sir_." 

"Anna? It's too early for my birthday. Just set it down on the counter, Dean. I'll deal with it after I finish eating." 

"Sure thing, Sir." Dean set the box on the island and back away from it like it was a bomb. He nodded to Benny and almost ran out the door. 

"Was it my imagination or was he as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo?" Benny asked, still staring at the back door. 

"I thought we worked things out," Castiel murmured more to himself than Benny. Benny turned to study him. 

"Worked things out?" 

"He thought I was going to fire him for being too familiar." He really did think things were back to normal with the two of them, but Dean's behavior was to the contrary. 

Benny raised an eyebrow. "Too familiar? Please tell me he didn't make a pass." 

Castiel sat bolt upright. "What? God, no. I caught him eating the bread pudding last night and I may have teased him about it, but then we started talking and..." Castiel let the sentence trail off. 

"Oh, I get it. You two shared some good conversation and he felt like he overstepped his bounds because you're the Vice President and all." 

"Exactly. But I met with him this afternoon and things seemed to be back to normal." 

"Normal as in, he's your bodyguard and keeps you at arm's length unless he's protecting you, or normal as in, you might see him as a friend?" 

Castiel stood up and took his plate to the sink. "I'm pleading the fifth." Benny's laughter followed him up the stairs. The box from Anna was tucked under his arm. 

In his bedroom, he sat the box on the end of his bed and toed off his shoes. His plans for the evening included going over his speech for the Smithsonian Folklife Festival on Friday. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He was debating whether to bring his briefcase up to his room where he could be comfortable or stay downstairs so he wouldn't feel like an old man going to bed before nine. His gaze fell on the box. He'd momentarily forgot it. 

The tape had been cut, but whomever opened it folded the flaps so it stayed shut. Castiel knew the protocol. All packages and mail were run through an x-ray machine and then a trained dog was given the item to see if there were explosives or harmful substances inside. Only then, could an agent open the package safely. Dean said the package was from Anna, but the return address was from someplace called  _Swallow and Peters_. Strange name. Was it one of those trendy boutiques she favored?  

He pulled on the top flap revealing a red piece of paper. He read it and frowned. What was she talking about?  _His time of need_? He frowned and began digging through the packing peanuts. God, he hated those things. Oh... no... no... no.... Castiel stared in horror at the contents of the box. Dildos and vibrators of every shape, size, and color... there had to be at least a dozen of them. A tube of something called Anal Eaze... several types of lube. He closed his eyes. His entire security detail had probably seen what was inside the box. He could never show his face again. Perhaps he could get a Russian mafia hitman to take him out. One bullet would save him the mortification of facing... Dean... shit. Dean saw this stuff. That's why he was acting so weird.  

He snatched up his cell phone and jabbed his finger on his sister's picture. "Hello, Castiel. Luc and I were just leaving for dinner. Can I call you back later?" 

"No," he snapped. "How could you do this to me, Anna?" 

"Castiel, what's wrong?" She sounded concerned. Well, she damn well should. She ruined his life. 

"The package, Anna. The fucking package."  

There was a moment of silence and then she said, "It was a joke, Castiel. Has being in Washington taken away your sense of humor?" Her voice was laced with hurt and Castiel had to will himself to stay angry. 

"Your little joke has humiliated me." He pinched the bridge of his nose. His blood pressure was on the rise. 

"How, Castiel?" Did she really not know? 

"What do you think happens when a package arrives for me? Do you think the mailman delivers it right to me and says  _have a nice day_?"  

He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. He also heard his brother-in-law telling her they were going to miss their reservations. "Castiel, tell me what happened." 

After explaining the procedures, she was so upset that Luc took the phone. "I don't know what's going on, but my wife is crying and date night has been canceled." 

"I apologize, Luc," Castiel told his brother-in-law, but he was still angry enough to spit nails. "I will talk to her again when I've significantly calmed down." She was the daughter of a senator for Christ's sake. She knew protocol.  He hung up and rubbed his hands over his face. He'd have to deal with this. Picking up his phone where he'd dropped it on the bed, he called Dean. 

"Agent Winchester." 

"Dean, I need to see you." 

"Now?" Castiel looked at the clock beside his bed. It was quitting time for Dean. Damn it. He'd pulled a double just last night. 

"Never mind." He hung up without saying another word. It was childish, but somehow if felt good. Leaving the box where it was, mainly because he couldn't bear to touch it, he went downstairs. Benny would be gone by now and work would keep his mind from plotting his sister's death.  

It was one thing the entire country knew he was a gay man, but to have those sworn to protect him see those things. He was humiliated.  

He cocked his head when the rumble of a loud car engine came from the front of the house. He booted up his laptop, knowing the night detail would take care of it. He wasn't expecting anyone. Less than a minute later, someone banged on the door.  

Castiel snatched open the door, ready to give his detail a reaming. Dean stood there, tie gone, top button undone, and no jacket, allowing Castiel a view of the shoulder holster that held Dean's pistol. As many times as the agent knocked on his door, he should be used to it by now, but this visit left him momentarily speechless. Dean was not. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Vice President." 

"Yes... it could have waited. You're probably tired and ready to go home." Dean's expression softened. 

"I'm good, Sir."  

"Come in then," Castiel said, opening the door wider. He spotted the beautiful car sitting in the driveway. "Is that yours?" Castiel asked, already stepping onto the veranda. Several of his detail moved into view and Dean, who'd followed him, waved them off. 

"Yes, Sir." 

Not caring that he was barefoot and noticeably dressed in sleepwear, Castiel stood at the railing and gazed down at the car. "She's beautiful. A '67, right?" 

"That's right, Mr. Vice President. You know cars?" Castiel sent him a sideways glance. Dean looked impressed. 

"Just Chevys. My dad had a '66 Malibu. I wanted it so bad," Castiel said, remembering the dark green car. His father had promised it to him for his graduation present, but it had been stolen. When it was recovered, all that was left was a twisted frame. Both Chuck and Castiel has shed tears over that stupid car. 

"This one was my dad's," Dean murmured. Castiel recalled Dean's file. John Winchester had died in the line of duty. This was more than a car to Dean. They both stood quietly, deep in their own thoughts for a little while. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" 

"Oh, yes." Castiel gestured to the door and they moved inside. Castiel led the way to the living room. He sat down in one of the pretentious easy chairs left by one of his predecessors. Dean stood for a second or two and then took a seat on the couch. "About the package..." 

"That's none of my business, Sir," Dean exclaimed, quickly cutting him off. 

"You are correct, but unfortunately, my entire detail knows my sister has an inappropriate sense of humor and I feel they will no longer respect me. What I'm asking..." 

"Whoa, stop, Sir." Dean stood up and paced back and forth before stopping in front of Castiel. "No one... and I mean no one saw the contents of that box but me. The x-rays... well, you couldn't tell what was inside. And just so you know, I told the rest of the detail that the package contained cooking supplies for Benny." 

Castiel couldn't believe his ears. Dean had protected him. Sure, he was paid to do it, but this was different. He didn't completely trust many people in Washington, but at that moment in time, he knew he trusted Dean Winchester. 

 

"What's in the box?" Charlie asked in an atrocious Brad Pitt imitation as Dean came out of the room. 

"Just a bunch of cooking stuff for Benny," Dean answered, tucking the box more securely under his arm. 

"Bor—ing," she muttered, her attention once again on her monitors.  

Dean walked outside and looked toward the residence. He counted to ten. Time to get this over with.  

He'd been hoping to pass the box off to Benny, tell him it was personal for the Veep, and finish out his shift without drama. That didn't happen. Sure, Benny answered the door, but Novak was eating at the kitchen table. He'd always pictured the man sitting in the formal dining room, all by himself, eating off fine china. Instead, here he was with a heaping plate of spaghetti in the kitchen with his cook like a normal person. 

Novak asked Dean what it was and Dean's heart sank. He couldn't blurt out that the man's sister sent him a box of adult toys. Toys that Dean wouldn't have minded trying out, truth be told. They were quality merchandise. He knew he was blushing because his face felt like it was on fire. Dean stuttered through the short conversation and escaped as fast as he could.  

Now, here he was in Novak's living room talking about the same damn box. It felt surreal. He'd answered the door in pajamas. Pajamas. And not fancy silk or satin, no, these looked like they'd seen better days. 

In his place, Dean would have packed his shit and left the state... hell, the country. If Sam ever did something like that, Dean would bury him. They'd never find the body. And that was the reason, Dean had covered for him. 

"Cooking supplies?" Novak was staring at him, his head tilted to the side like a confused bird. "You... no one else knows?" 

"No, Sir." Dean watched the emotions play over Novak's face. Damn, he had a pretty face. It was a fuckin' shame he was who he was and not some dude he met in a bar.  

Novak visibly relaxed, his head fell back against the really ugly chair. Who picked out the furniture, someone's blind grandmother? "I'm relieved that I don't have to find a hiding place for my sister's body." 

Dean burst out laughing. "Yeah, after I opened it and had time to think, I decided if Sam did something like that, they'd never find his body either." 

"Sam? Sam Winchester? Is he the same Sam Winchester that is the director of the Autism Society of Washington?" 

"Yes, Sir. He told me he met you at that charity wing-ding. You made his night." 

"I believe in supporting worthy causes. Your brother does amazing work, Dean." 

"Sam's son, Toby, is autistic," Dean said soberly. "He's a great kid." 

"How old is he?" 

"He's eight." Suddenly, Dean felt that awkward feeling again. This was the Vice President, not some friend he could watch football with. 

"We seem to have a lot in common, Dean." Dean's expression turned quizzical. Novak was one of the most powerful people in the country, what could he have in common with Dean? He must have read Dean's mind because he smiled and ticked off his fingers. "Good food, classic cars, a special needs nephew... " He stopped. Dean wondered if he was going to say something about their sexual orientation and thought better of it. 

Since he was still standing, Dean moved a step closer to the foyer. "If that's all..."  

Novak looked disappointed. But why? "Have a good evening, Dean." 

"Thank you, Sir." He let himself out and leaned against the door. Thankfully, the contents of the box didn't come up for discussion. Shaking his head, he jogged to the Impala, waved to the night shift, and headed home. The Vice President thought they had stuff in common. Yeah, well, he had a lot of stuff in common with Art too and look how that turned out. 

Letting himself into his apartment, he tossed his jacket and tie over the back of his couch. In the kitchen, he grabbed a microbrew from the fridge and took several swallows. "God, what a day," he mumbled. He took the bottle to his bedroom where he set it down on the dresser. A couple of minutes later and he was down to his boxer briefs. Another sip of his beer and headed back to the living room.  

His apartment was small, but affordable. A one-bedroom near the headquarters building. Now that he was guarding Novak, his daily drive was an hour longer in DC traffic, but he didn't want to bother moving. Besides, he didn't need much. His memory foam mattress and the sixty-inch flat screen television were enough for him.  

Dean flopped down on the couch, scratched his balls, and propped his feet on the coffee table. He found Cupcake Wars on the Food Network and relaxed. Two episodes in and he yawned. The double shift was catching up to him.  

He brushed his teeth and set out his suit and tie for the next day. After double checking to make sure he locked the door, he crawled beneath the covers. 

 _Those toys though_. Dean had a couple of things in his bedside drawer, but that little collection was pretty fucking awesome. Would Novak keep them? Even better question... would he use them. Dean's eyes opened at the thought.  

After he'd met Novak and that sexy as fuck Irishman at 1789, he'd had a few racy fantasies. Not since he'd started work for the Vee Pee though.  _That_ was now forbidden territory. 

If he hadn't taken this job, he might have Art in his bed right now. He huffed and turned on his side. Who was he trying to kid? They had reached the end of the road. Both of them knew it, but Dean figured that neither had the balls to end that part of their relationship. He knew they'd stay friends. It might take a little while to get over the awkwardness, but he was confident they'd survive. But a booty call would really help right now. 

He stared up at the ceiling. Why was he so damn horny? "Novak," he whispered into the darkness. Novak and his box of toys. "Castiel." He tried out the man's first name. It sound exotic on his lips. "Cas...ti...el." Yeah, it was exotic, but it wasn't a name you could shout out during an orgasm. That thought made his cock twitch. 

Wrapping his hand around the base of his half-hard cock, he blew out a breath. Fantasies couldn't hurt. It would be like getting off to thoughts of Dr. Sexy. It would never happen in real life. What was the harm? 

As he stroked himself, images of Castiel Novak were at the forefront of his mind. Naked, sweating, his mouth kissing, sucking, biting. It took an embarrassingly short time to get off. Growling at the absurdity of putting the Vice President in his sexual fantasies, he stomped to the bathroom to clean up. He was being stupid.  

His last conscious thought before falling asleep was that Mick Davies was a stupid motherfucker to let Cas Novak go. He wouldn't remember the shortened version of the man's name he'd used. 

 

Long after Dean drove off in his beautiful car, Castiel sat pondering what had just happened. A jaw-cracking yawn pulled him out of his thoughts. He could not deny he was attracted to Dean. Even more now. It was insane. Dean's sense of honor would never allow him to cross the line from employee to friend, let alone anything more.  

Frowning, he walked upstairs. He hadn't worked on his speech at all, but he didn't feel as if his evening was wasted. He spent it in Dean's company.  

Inside the safety of his bedroom, he flipped through the box's contents. The little joke must have cost Anna a great deal of money. He emptied various toys into his nightstand drawer. When he'd moved to Washington after the election, he'd left most of his things behind. Having a vibrator seemed unbecoming of a leader of the free world.  

Once Mick came along, he'd kept lube and condoms, but nothing else. Now, he had a collection that would rival a porn star. A particularly beautiful glass phallus caught his eye. Clear with swirls of blue. The craftmanship was exquisite. It came in a velvet sheath. Sighing, he put it in the drawer with the other things. 

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. A conversation he'd once had with his mother came to him. "You can't choose who you fall in love with, Castiel," she'd said, touching his tear stained cheek. It was after he'd told a classmate he liked him...a straight classmate. He'd been eight and the boy made fun of him. His eyes narrowed at his reflection. Maybe not, but he could definitely keep Dean at a professional distance.  

Castiel pulled back the thick comforter and crawled between the sheets. Clasping his hands together behind his head, he stared at the ceiling.  _Dean had protected him_. That one thing would not leave his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. When he'd talked to Castiel, his expression wasn't filled with judgment or ridicule.  

Releasing a pent-up breath, he rolled over to turn off the lamp and his eyes drifted down to the nightstand drawer. No, he was a forty-two-year old man. He could ignore his body's urges. His fingers twisted the switch and the room went dark.  His arm fell back onto the mattress.  

As if on its own accord, his right hand moved down his stomach. At the waistband of his sleep pants, he made a frustrated sound. He wasn't a hormone crazed teenage boy. His cock told him otherwise.  

A moment later, his pants were shoved to mid-thigh and he was squeezing his balls. He tried to picture Mick. He could still fantasize about him. They'd been good together. His cock ached, but he ignored it. His hand cupped and caressed his sac. With his other, he pushed his t-shirt up to expose his stomach. He touched his nipple... just enough to harden the sensitive nub.  

"No," he whispered. He didn't want slow and easy. He sat up and pushed his pants down his legs. With a flick of his ankle, they were on the floor. It had been inevitable. He flipped on the light and opened the drawer. The velvet pouch seemed to mock him. He emptied it onto the stark white sheet. The swirls of color caught the lamplight. 

Raw need wouldn't let him go slow. He slicked the length of it with Astroglide and spread his legs. He tensed went he pressed it to his entrance. It wasn't overly thick, but he should take his time. He inhaled and held it. He pushed it inside. The smooth glass stretched and opened him. Moaning at the pain, he told himself to breath. "Mick..."  

His cock was throbbing and precum beaded at the slit. He looked down at his spread legs, imagining Mick's dark head there, parting his thighs, whispering to him, his words peppered with Irish terms of endearment. Castiel moved the glass wand in and out. The pain had given way to waves of pleasure. "Dean."  

Castiel quickly rolled to his stomach, then rose to his knees. "Yes... fuck me." He imagined Dean's hard body draped over his back, fucking him, claiming him. Castiel's hand moved faster. In and out. He hissed as the head of his neglected cock brushed against the sheets.  _Faster_. He moaned and it turned into a whimper as he pressed it against his prostate again and again. "Dean..." He whispered into the pillow. "Please." He wanted to touch himself, but denial made his release that much sweeter. His arm was feeling the strain of working the wand in and out. With a final shove deep into his body, he gasped as his orgasm washed over him. Thick streams of cum coated the bed and he lowered his head, his breaths coming in uneven bursts of air. 

Gingerly, he pulled the glass dildo out of his ass and tossed it to the side. He rolled over to avoid the mess. It took him a few seconds of deep breathing to settle his heart rate. It was only after he was cleaning up in the bathroom that he realized it was Dean starring in his fantasy and not Mick. He released a bark of self-deprecating laughter at his reflection. He needed to request a replacement for Dean. It was the only way to avoid this... whatever this was. 

The morning didn't bring him any answers. He couldn't make eye contact with Dean and to punish himself, he ran further than usual. He zoned out to the sound of their feet pounding the pavement. Dean's labored breathing in his left ear was a mantra. _Unavailable_. Dean Winchester was unavailable. 

At the office later that day, he made time to write the speech he'd intended to put on paper last night. His staff had stayed away from him for the most part. He'd just saved the file when Meg burst through the door. "Nice of you to knock," he muttered. 

"Sarcasm isn't a good look for you," she said, eyeing him speculatively. "Is there something I should know?" 

A moment of panic passed over his expression. Did someone leak the contents of the box? No, Dean said he was the only one who knew. Was he lying? 

Meg continued, "Balthazar said you were in a mood. You are never in a mood. What's going on?" Castiel relaxed. She didn't know anything. 

"I just didn't sleep well. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Meg," his words dripped insincerity, but this was Meg and she didn't care. 

"Yeah, whatever," she waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Moving on... are you ready for Friday?" 

"I finished the speech and am about to email it to Billie to proof." And just like that, thoughts of Dean were put on the back burner, even those involving Castiel talking to Chief Singer about moving Dean out of his detail. 

He managed to avoid any time alone with the agent until Friday morning as they were preparing to drive to the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Dean waltzed into the kitchen as Castiel was finishing up his coffee. "Good morning, Mr. Vice President. We will need to discuss today's event." 

Castiel looked around for a means of escape, but Benny was smirking at him and Dean stood there waiting to be acknowledged. "Very well." Castiel motioned for Dean to sit. "Benny, would you get Dean a cup of coffee?" 

"That's okay, I'm good," Dean said to Benny before taking a seat. Castiel sat across from him and clasped his hands on the table. Dean waited a beat and when Castiel didn't speak, he opened his binder and began. "We'll be arriving at the National Mall at ten. You're going to stroll around the exhibits to make nice and shake hands, and then, at noon, you'll take the podium before the wine tasting event. Any changes?" 

"No, that sounds right," Castiel said, toying with the handle of his coffee cup. Dean was staring at him and he knew his mood was the cause. He'd always been more talkative with the agent. 

"Okay, then." Dean moved to stand and Benny cleared his throat. Castiel looked up at his chef. 

"Y'all just need to talk. This is painful to watch." He rolled his eyes and walked out the back door, letting it slam behind him. 

"What's he talking about?" Dean asked, tapping his pen against the legal pad in his binder. 

Castiel let the question hang in the air for a few seconds, unsure how to proceed. Then he huffed and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. Dean was staring at him, eyes curious. Castiel's own gaze drifted to Dean's lips and heat filled his stomach when he remembered how he'd imagined Dean fucking him. "Dean... perhaps I should talk to Chief Singer. You said yourself, this position is one of the reasons you and Agent Ketch are no longer together. Henricksen is capable of assuming your position and I feel..." 

"You firing me?" Dean asked, straightening in his chair. His brow was furrowed, but he looked far from angry. He looked hurt. 

"No... I would tell Chief Singer that this is entirely on me. Your service has been above reproach." 

"So, you just don't like me then?" Dean looked startled at his own question and he stood abruptly. "I'll let Henricksen take lead today." He turned to go and Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Dean... Agent Winchester... " Dean was near the backdoor. "I'm sorry." There was a hesitation in Dean's stride, but he didn't stop. "I find you too attractive, Dean. And it's a distraction." Dean froze, his hand on the knob. "You see why I think this is for the best." 

The look of self-righteous anger on Dean's face when he spun around made Castiel's mouth go dry. "Let me get this straight. You have the hots for me and what, you don't think you can control yourself?" 

"That's not what I said," Castiel stood, his own anger surfacing. "Don't put words in my mouth, Dean." 

"Or what, Cas? You want me gone anyway." Cas? Dean must have registered the slip at the same time Castiel did, because a look of mortification crossed his face. 

"I don't want you gone, Dean. But I don't want to... have thoughts..." He stopped. This wasn't going the way it had in his inner musings. 

"And you think I'd play the sexual harassment card?" 

"You wouldn't do that," Castiel said with confidence, because he knew Dean would...  _protect_  him. 

"Damn right, I wouldn't." He tilted his head and touched the earpiece. "They're ready for us out front." Their eyes locked and the clock on the wall ticked loudly. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it. "You want Henricksen or me, Mr. Vice President?" 

"You," he whispered. The jut of Dean's jaw told Castiel that he knew he wasn't just talking about today's detail. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in Dripping Springs, Texas, home of the Family Business Brewing Company. The brewery is a fun place to go and hang out. I came here to relax and re-boot and this trip has accomplished that. 
> 
> I was off the rails for a short time due to some drama, but now, I'm feeling better and ready to move on with this story. Thank you for your patience.

The argument had Dean feeling off. Okay, argument might be a strong word for the heated discussion he’d just had with the Vice President. In typical male fashion, his ego had been stroked by Novak’s confession. But on the other hand, he’d been pissed that he wanted to toss Dean off his detail. They were fucking adults. A little sexual attraction was to be expected... _right_? 

If his team suspected anything, they kept it to themselves as they rode toward the National Mall. Once there, Dean, Victor, Jo, and Cesar got out of the Tahoe and stood next to it while the remaining team members moved through the crowds to get into position. The four of them would surround Novak as he did his thing. 

The event itself was too folksy for Dean’s taste. Sam and Eileen would have fit right in. There was music, food, and demonstrations, and damned if Novak wanted to stop at each one and shake hands, even posing for selfies with some of the festival goers. All in all, it was a secret service agent’s nightmare. Dean’s eyes were everywhere, taking in the tourists and those working the exhibits. Those that were interested in Novak were all smiles. Guess gay men were good with this type of crowd. 

As the morning wore on, Dean was miserable from the heat. He was in his usual suit in Washington’s July temperatures. He sent a glare in Novak’s direction. He’d taken off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and loosened his tie. He was more approachable and that made Dean nervous. Everyone seemed to want to meet the Vice President. While Novak talked to a group of teens, Dean checked in with his team. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  

At a vendor’s tent, Dean tossed the guy a five and pointed to a bottle of ice cold water. He was unscrewing the lid when he overheard, “Fucking faggot.” Instantly on alert, he pushed closer to Novak, head swiveling this way and that. If the Vice President had heard the slur, he wasn’t reacting to it, his gaze still intent on the teenagers surrounding him. Then Dean saw him. The dude was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the confederate flag, holding a beer, and glaring at Novak. Dean didn’t see a weapon, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. He motioned to Jo and she nodded her understanding. Leaving Novak in Victor and Cesar’s capable hands, he strode up to the man.  

Dean found that most dumb rednecks were easily intimidated without their friends around them, and this guy was on his own. “Hey, buddy, alcohol and this heat don’t go together really well,” he said, pulling himself to his full height, an easy three inches taller than the man in question. 

“Yeah, well fuck you... this is ‘Merica and last time I checked, drinking a couple of beers wasn’t breaking any laws.” 

“You are correct,” Dean responded. “But when a couple of beers makes you act like a fool in a crowd filled with children and tourists out to have a nice time, it can escalate real fast.” The whole time, Dean kept a smile on his face. The last thing he wanted to do was rile the guy up, but he wasn’t going to let him cause a scene in front of all these people. 

“I ain’t breaking the law.” Then his eyes narrowed as he took in Dean’s suit and earpiece. “Might have known the faggot would have a pretty boy like you guarding his ass.” He seemed to find himself funny and laughed loudly before adding, “He make you suck his dick?” 

Dean’s fist connected with the man’s nose and blood spurted, thankfully, splashing on the sidewalk instead of Dean. Jo was at his side instantly. A police officer ran up to them and while holding a hand to his face, the man began berating Dean. “You can’t do that. I can sue you.” His words were nasally and hard to understand. 

Jo nodded at the officer. “This man seemed threatening and is obviously drunk. You can take him away, Officer Jenkins,” she said, after eyeing his nametag. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said without hesitation and cuffs were snapped on the man’s wrists.  

“You can’t do this. He hit me. I wasn’t doing shit,” he yelled, struggling against the restraints. 

“Tell it to the judge, asshole,” Jo said snidely. Dean hid his grin until the officer steered the still yelling man through the crowd. 

“This one might come back to haunt me,” Dean said, rubbing his knuckles. Technically, the man was well within his rights to say whatever the hell he wanted. 

Jo shrugged. “He seemed threatening to me, boss.” The twinkle in her eye told him that she’d back him up if this incident got him called on the carpet.  

“Thanks, Jo.” They turned to make their way back to Novak and Dean caught the Vice President’s eye. Concern made his forehead crease and his mouth was tight. Victor and Cesar stood on each side of him. He might have to take some heat for his quick temper. 

“Dean, what was that about?” Novak’s voice was low and only the four agents surrounding him heard. 

“The guy was drunk and acted threatening, Sir,” Jo answered for him. She’d stopped him from spouting out the truth. 

“Oh, well...” Novak glanced around the crowd and his smile was tight. “Guess I should expect it at large events like this.”  

“Sir, it’s almost time for your speech,” Dean reminded him, pissed that the jerk ruined Novak’s good day. 

They made their way to the raised dais. It was near a large white tent where the wine tasting was going to be held. After his speech, Novak would be one of the guest judges.  

The team took their place, all strategically worked out ahead of time by Dean and Charlie. From his vantage point at the edge of the stage, Dean located each agent and satisfied they were in place, he motioned for the emcee to introduce the Vice President. 

Novak waited until the woman finished gushing over him and then walked across to the podium. He gave her a brief hug and the required kiss on the cheek. The crowd clapped and Novak looked out at them. “Good afternoon and thank you for coming out to support the Smithsonian and all the vendors here today.” 

Dean stopped listening. Political speeches just weren’t his thing, even if Novak was the one giving it. He let his eyes roam the crowd over and over again, back and forth, stopping on occasion when someone garnered his attention.  

“Again, thank you for coming and please make sure you visit all the vendors and performers here today,” Novak finished up. He waved to the cheering crowd and stepped to the side.  

The emcee leaned into the microphone, clapping, “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. Now, the wine tasting will begin.” 

Once they were inside the tent, the rest of the team would not have a visual of the Vice President. It was all on Dean and the three agents with him. Victor took point and led them through the gathered people to the front of the tent where tables were set up.  

The wine tasting was just that... boring. Novak made nice with everyone and when it was over, Dean couldn’t wait to get out of the stifling tent. He was drenched in sweat. He wondered if his deodorant had failed, but he couldn’t very well lift his arm and sniff now.  

He led the group back to the motorcade and held the door for Novak. Their eyes met and held for a few seconds. He thought back to their _discussion_. Would he go to Bobby and have Dean removed from his detail? For some reason, that thought made Dean feel nauseous. Maybe the heat was getting to him. 

 

Castiel walked through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting his constituents. He enjoyed meeting the people who had voted him into office. It was an awe-inspiring feeling.   

Throughout the morning, he’d been aware of Dean’s presence, but the man was nothing but professional. They’d barely made eye contact. He was torn between going through with his plans to talk to Chief Singer about Dean’s transfer or letting him continue to lead his detail just to prove that he could act like an adult.  

“What are your thoughts on the bee crisis America is facing?” The young man, fifteen or sixteen, asked him. The teens were from a local high school and were volunteering at today’s festival.  

“It is a subject that I care strongly about. Without bees, the inhabitants of earth will slowly starve to death. I stand strongly against the use of pesticides and am currently discussing a tax incentive to everyone who builds hives and builds up the numbers of these extraordinary insects.” A shout and then a scuffle made Castiel look up. He was just in time to see Dean’s fist connect with a man’s nose. He took a step toward them, but Victor blocked his path. 

“Agents Winchester and Harvelle have this, Sir. I’ll ask that you stay with us.” Cesar closed rank and between the two men, Castiel couldn’t really see what was going on. A moment later and a police officer was leading the man away. Dean and Agent Harvelle joined them. 

“Dean, what was that about?” He deliberately kept his voice quiet so not to draw attention to any issues. People with cell phones were like vultures, always waiting to grab the misfortunes of others on their cameras for the world to see. 

It was Agent Harvelle that answered his question. “The guy was drunk and acted threatening, Sir.” 

“Oh, well...Guess I should expect it at large events like this.” He knew a risk was always there when he made public appearances. He’d been enjoying his day and now, it seemed like a cloud had covered the once sunny day. 

Dean’s voice shook him out of his melancholy. “Sir, it’s almost time for your speech.”  

Speeches were easy for him. If only other aspects of his life were as simple. Thankfully, this crowd was receptive to him and what he stood for. 

As a special guest judge, Castiel was seated at a table and several glasses of wine were place in front of him, all with a number taped to the bottom. He sipped, sniffed and twirled the wine to gauge the color range, then marked the score sheet.  

The temperature inside the tent was high, the misters and fans having little to no affect. He’d shed his jacket long ago and had rolled up his sleeves. He glanced at his detail. Their faces were damp with sweat. He cut the niceties with the winner short and allowed himself to be led outside. 

The tasting and judging was his last obligation of the day and he was glad to slip into the SUV’s dim and cool interior. Dean took his place in the front seat as the rest of the team took their positions in the lead and rear vehicles. 

From his seat in the back, Castiel could observe Dean without notice. His posture was stiffer than usual and he kept his eyes forward, not chatting with the driver like he was prone to do. Dean was still angry with him. That fact settled into Castiel’s chest like a stone. 

At the house, Dean got out and opened his door. The smile he’d gotten used to was absent.  “I’ll be down at the shack if you need me,  _Mr._  Vice President.” Castiel picked up on the note of sarcasm on Dean’s use of his title. 

“Dean, please come inside. I need to discuss something with you.” 

“Could it wait, Sir? I’m hot and in need of a shower.”  

“No, it can’t.” The other agents traded glances and drifted away. Dean’s face hardened, but he followed Castiel inside the house. He chose the formal living room. Dean stood stiffly while Castiel took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. He motioned toward the other one. Dean sat, but by his expression, he wanted Castiel to know he was unhappy about it. “When Agent Trenton left, I assumed my life would be a little less tense.” 

“Don’t you dare compare me to him,” Dean snarled and then shrank back. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry you feel that way, Sir.” 

“Damn it, Dean,” Castiel snapped and stood up, raking his fingers through his hair. He turned to the piano and leaned against it. For some reason, it gave him comfort. Dean was watching him and he looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m not going to talk to Chief Singer. I want you to stay on my detail.” 

“Why?” Dean asked, his voice soft and it nearly broke Castiel. There were so many facets to Dean Winchester and he wanted to learn them all. 

“Heaven help me, but I like you.” At Dean’s shocked expression, Castiel was quick to add, “Yes, I’m attracted to you, but more than that, I want you as a friend, Dean.” 

“Mr. Vice President, friendship is impossible,” Dean said and Castiel picked up on the sadness in his tone. “You’re you and I’m... I work for you.” 

“Why does it have to be impossible?” Castiel moved forward and sat down again. He bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. 

“You know the answer to that.” Dean looked away.  

“Please.” Castiel knew he was fighting dirty, but he didn’t care. He wanted Dean in his life. In any capacity.  

Dean’s gaze found his again. “How would it even work?” Castiel felt a surge of hope. Dean hadn’t said no. 

“When we are alone... like this... we can be two friends enjoying each other’s company. And... when we are in the presence of others, we go back to our professional relationship.” 

“And what happens when one of us fucks it up?” Dean asked, giving Castiel the impression Dean thought it wouldn’t be Castiel that screwed up. 

“It’s worth taking the risk... to me.” Dean shook his head and stood up. He walked over to the piano and trailed his fingertip along the keys. 

“Heard you play this thing.”  

“I do,” Castiel said, pursing his lips at the sudden change of subject. 

“Classical shit?” Castiel couldn’t help his grin. 

“Some.” 

Dean plunked a hard D flat. The sound reverberated in the room. “Can you play something I know?” 

Castiel rose and settled onto the bench. Dean didn’t budge, which meant his left hip was almost touching Castiel’s right shoulder. Castiel thought for a moment and then began The Beatles’  _With a Little Help From My Friends_. 

Dean chuckled and stepped back. Castiel’s shoulder was suddenly cold. “Cool.” 

When Castiel hit the last note, he rested his hands on his thighs. Dean walked to the window and stared out, hands in his pants pockets. “Dean?” 

“I don’t know how this is going to play out, Cas.” There it was again... the shortened version of his name that Dean had called him in anger. Only now, it was soft and questioning. 

“One day at a time, Dean.” 

Dean turned and looked at him. “You think the attraction will go away?” 

“Maybe,” Castiel said sheepishly and grinned when Dean laughed. 

“See you in the morning, Mr. Vice President.” Castiel stayed seated at his piano and watched Dean leave. When the door shut behind him, Castiel’s finger tapped out the opening notes of  _What’s Love Got to Do With It_.  

 

Dean knew this thing with the Vice President was crazy. It was working though. They both managed to keep their relationship professional around everyone but Benny. The Cajun was just too damn smart. Castiel assured him that his chef was loyal and Dean believed him.  

They continued their days as before. Starting with their morning run, then having breakfast that Benny prepared. It was there in the kitchen of Cas’ house that they bonded. That was the only word that seemed to fit what was happening between them. Dean found Cas really funny and if he harbored a sexual attraction, well no one needed to know about it.  

The first week of August, Dean was busy preparing his advance team to go to London. Princess Anne’s shindig wouldn’t be the worst gig. Other world leaders would be there, so security would be high, making Dean’s job a little easier.  

By the time Friday rolled around, Dean was still beat from all the logistics of getting half his team into London and settled into the same hotel that Cas would be staying in. He leaned back in his chair, closed his laptop, and rolled his head to one side, then the other. God, he was stiff from sitting. 

Glancing at his watch, he figured he had roughly an hour before he was meeting Art to throw back a couple of beers. Stretching his arms above his head, he blew out a breath, and got up. He’d brought clothes to change into so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back to his apartment. 

Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a pale gray t-shirt, he hurried out to the Impala. His first stop was Cas’ house. They’d dropped him off from work well over an hour ago, so he’d probably eaten, which meant Benny would have packed him some leftovers to take with him.  

He let himself in the back door and made his way down the short hallway that led to the kitchen. He heard voices and smiled at the chance to see Cas before he left for the night. 

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out in his best Jack Nicholson impression, as he rounded the corner.  Cas looked up from his plate of what looked like...  “God, you made burgers... leave your wife, leave Cas, and run away with me, man.” 

As he expected Cas laughed and Benny rolled his eyes. "Brotha’, you’re all talk. I don’t think you could handle a man like me.” 

Dean gave him a dramatic head to toe appraisal. “Oh, I could handle you alright.” This teasing between them was nothing new and Benny knew he was joking around. 

“Sit, and I’ll give you some meat to handle,” Benny said, taking a plate out of the cabinet. 

“Sorry, man, I don’t have time to grace you with my presence. I’ve got a date.” The room seemed to drop in temperature and Dean watched Cas focus intently on his food. Benny turned away and gathered some plastic containers for Dean’s ‘to go’ order.  _What the hell_? 

The room was silent save for the sound of Benny snapping lids and slamming them heavily onto the counter. Cas suddenly pushed his plate away and stood. “I have some work to do. Have a nice evening, Dean.” 

He was left with Benny’s scowling face. “What?” 

“You really are a clueless ass.” 

“Guess you’re right, because I don’t know what the hell I did wrong.” 

Benny’s bark of laughter was mirthless. “You waltz in here bragging about having a date when you know damn well how he...” Benny snapped his lips together in a hard line.  

Dean’s brain rewound. _Date_? Oh... he’d just been playing around. He was having a beer with is ex. It wasn’t a date. Fuck. He felt bad that he’d upset Cas, but it wasn’t like they were  _together_. “You need to chill the fuck out, Benny. Number One, I ain’t going on a date. I’m just having a beer with my ex. And Number Two, Cas and I are friends. That’s it. That’s the way we have to play it.”  

“And tell me why do you have to  _play it_  like that, huh?” 

“Damn it, Benny, don’t act stupid. You know the Vice President and his bodyguard can’t be a thing. Cas doesn’t need a scandal. I’m the hired help, man.” 

“Now who’s acting stupid. You think it matters to him what you do?” 

“No, it doesn’t matter to him, but he’s the fucking Vice President, Benny.” Why couldn’t Benny see that letting something happen between them would open up a huge fucking can of worms for Cas? 

Benny shoved the packed containers at him and bit out, “Have fun on your date, Dean.”  

“Benny...” But the chef had turned his back and was loudly loading dishes in the dishwasher.  

As he drove off the Observatory grounds, Dean unpacked his burger. He bit into it and it tasted like sawdust. Damn Benny for stirring shit up. Damn him for joking around about the date thing. He didn’t know Cas would take it like that. Cas acted like a jealous lover and they weren’t like that. Cas had said he could stow the attraction thing. He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. And this was why he shouldn’t have agreed to this friendship thing.  

When he pushed open the door to the bar, he wasn’t feeling any better. He spotted Art at a corner booth and headed over. He slid into the seat across from him and caught the server’s attention, pointing to Art’s beer. She acknowledged him and he turned his attention to Art. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Art said, eyeing Dean intently. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. Just looking forward to having a beer with my ex and relaxing after a tough week.” 

“Liar.” Yeah, he’d forgotten how perceptive Art was. 

“Not lying. I did have a hard week,” Dean countered petulantly. Art leaned back and crossed his arms. Dean groaned. “I can’t talk about it, okay?” 

“You know you can talk to me about anything, Dean. We might not have gone the distance, but I’d like to think we’re friends.” 

“We are,” Dean agreed emphatically. The server sat his beer down in front of him and gave them a smile before moving on. “So, how have you been?”  

“Fine. Tell me what’s wrong.” He’d forgotten how relentless Art could be. 

“So... it seems that Novak is attracted to me.” Art’s expression didn’t change one iota. “What? That doesn’t freak you out?” 

Art laughed softly and then blushed. He started playing with the neck of his beer bottle and Dean’s radar went crazy. “Dude, what aren’t you telling me?” 

“I’m dating someone.” Okay, yeah, that might have hurt a little. It sure didn’t take Art long to replace him. 

“That’s great, man. Who's the lucky guy?” 

“Mick Davies.” Dean stared at him, mouth agape. What the fuck? 

“Cas’ ex?” 

“Cas?” Art caught the slip and Dean inwardly groaned. 

To keep the conversation away from him and Cas, Dean exclaimed, ”You’re boinking the Vice President’s ex. That’s fucked up.” 

“How is it  _fucked up_ , Dean? Novak and Mick broke up. You and I broke up. As far as know, Novak and I weren’t besties and neither were you and Mick... so see, no man code broken.” Art had him there, Dean surmised. 

“At least, he’s hot,” Dean conceded and Art laughed and then sobered quickly. 

“Cas? Care to explain.” 

Dean stared at the small, round opening of his nearly empty beer bottle. Without looking up, he asked, “Can I trust you?” 

“That question both hurts and offends me, Dean.” Dean did look up then and saw the disappointment in Art’s expression. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just... this is all new territory for me.”  

Realization flared in Art’s eyes. “Are you...are you and Novak sleeping together?” The words were strangled and Art glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Dean appreciated it and knew that he really could trust Art with this.  

“No, nothing like that. We...uh...er... we’re friends... I guess you could say...” Dean felt the heat in his cheeks. 

“Friends?” Art asked, leaning forward, arms crossed on the table, his own beer forgotten. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean quickly told Art about the mutual attraction, the weird conversations about being friends, and Dean’s confusion on where he stood with his job. He left out the story about the box of  _gifts_  from Cas’ sister.  

Art had listened patiently without interruption. When Dean was done, he asked, “Can you do your job while feeling this attraction?” 

“Now, I’m the one offended, man,” Dean said vehemently. Protecting Cas was the least of Dean’s worries. He’d take a bullet for the man he’d sworn to protect.  

“What is causing the confusion then? As long as neither of you acts on this attraction, it won’t affect your job. I do have some advice though.” Art paused until he was sure he really had Dean’s attention. “If this attraction becomes more, you’ll have to resign your position.” He raised his hand as Dean opened his mouth to protest. “It’s not that I doubt your ability to do your job, Dean, but you’ll be too close and that could impede your judgment. It also means that your relationship with Novak would be like living in a fishbowl. That’s why Mick...” He stopped, sighed and continued. “I have a great deal of trust in you too, Dean.” Dean nodded and Art finished his sentence. “That’s why Mick broke it off. Every date, every goodnight kiss... all that was being watched, if not by one of us, but by the media. You will have to decide if he’s worth it.” 

“So, Mick thought Cas wasn’t worth it?” For some reason, Dean had fixated on those words out of all the others and it made him angry for Cas’ sake. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Dean. Mick really cared about Novak. He still cares and he came clean with me that he was well on his way of falling in love with your Cas, but for all Mick’s confidence, he couldn’t live with his life spread all over the news.” 

“And how does that make you feel?” 

“What?” Art looked confused. 

“That he was falling in love with Cas and now you two are... whatever you two are.” Dean refused to dwell on Art’s reference to  _your Cas_. 

Art shrugged. “We are taking things slow. Both of us have some shit to work out about our past lovers.” Dean winced. “Hey, I’m not trying to hurt you, Dean, but you have to admit that I laid my heart out there and yours wasn’t even in the same universe.” Dean deserved that and he knew Art was deliberately saying things to hurt him. 

They’d ended the evening early and the hug they gave each other was heartfelt. They also made a promise to get together again soon. 

The drive back to his apartment was quiet. He didn’t want music to interfere with his thoughts. Art’s confession about seeing Mick had floored him. He had no right to feel jealous and maybe what he was feeling wasn’t jealousy at all. No, he felt easily replaced and that’s what hurt. Had he been that bad a boyfriend? His hand tightened on the wheel. Yes. Yes, he had been. He didn’t give Art all he could have, but on the other hand, he couldn’t be blamed for not falling in love, could he? When the right person came along, he’d know. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent four glorious days in Dripping Springs, Texas, on vacation. I wrote and I re-booted myself. Two days were spent at Jensen's brewery. He wasn't there, but I got to meet Gino, Nate and the rest of the staff. They were great and I got to spend some time with Nate. I do plan on going back, maybe not in July. Texas in the summer is hotter than Lucifer's butthole.

Benny’s burgers were a sin. A glorious sin. He’d just taken his second bite and was listening to Benny gossiping about the housekeeper and her not-so-secret affair with the gardener when Dean appeared around the corner. “Honey, I’m home.” The man’s horrible impression of Jack Nicholson made him smile. “God, you made burgers... leave your wife, leave Cas, and run away with me, man.”

Castiel couldn’t help laughing at Dean’s antics. He was still chuckling as he listened to Dean and Benny banter back and forth. The two men had become friends and it made Castiel happy that two of his favorite people got along so well.

His happiness was short-lived at Dean’s comment about having a date. The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. He dropped his gaze to his burger, his appetite gone. He was vaguely aware to the tension in the room, but for the life of him, he could not look up. He had to get out of there. Pushing his plate away, he stood, eyes still avoiding the other two men. “I have some work to do. Have a nice evening, Dean.”

He left the kitchen and paused in the hall, fist clenched at his side. _Work_. He could focus on work. He strode quickly to his office and shut the door. Leaning against it, he rubbed his palms down his face. God, he was pathetic. Dean was an attractive man, outgoing and funny. Of course, he would date. 

Fifteen minutes later, he was still staring at the cursor blinking on his computer screen when the knock came. “Castiel?”

“Yes?” Benny was probably there to tell him he was leaving for the day. The door opened and his chef and friend walked into the room.

“Are you okay?” Before Castiel could formulate an answer, Benny continued. “That’s a stupid question. Look, Dean isn’t going on a date. He’s meeting his ex for a beer.” And  _that_ was supposed to make him feel better? 

“Benny, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but Dean and I... Dean and I are never going to be more than friends.” And that was pushing it. How could he be friends with someone he was starting to have feelings for? 

Benny stared at him a few seconds and seemed to come to a decision. He strode toward Castiel’s desk and sat in one of the chairs. “Dean likes you. It’s pretty damn obvious, but his problem is that he thinks starting any type of relationship with you will cause you problems. He said, and I quote, ‘ _Cas doesn’t need a scandal._ ’ He’s under the impression that if you dated the ‘hired help’, it would cause issues.”

“Hired help? I don’t see him that way,” Castiel exclaimed, standing in self-righteous anger. 

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Benny said, holding up his hands in supplication. Castiel made a humphing sound and sat back down. When neither spoke for a time, Benny shrugged and got up. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he got to the door, Castiel stopped him. “Benny.” His friend turned. “Thank you.”

“Last piece of advice. If you really want something, do your best to get it.” He shut the door behind him, leaving Castiel with even more to think about.

With preparations for his trip to Princess Anne’s birthday gala nearing, Castiel was too busy at work to dwell on his issues with Dean. The tension between them lessened and while they weren’t where they were, Castiel held hope that Dean would see him for what he was. Just a man. A man with hopes and dreams, insecurities and self-doubt.

Dawn broke Sunday morning and Castiel listened to the pounding rain outside for a few minutes before reluctantly getting out of bed. He hadn’t planned on running today, due to the last minute packing he had to do for his flight, so he would not see Dean until he was ready to leave for Andrews Air Force Base to board the plane. 

Breakfast was a quick cup of coffee and a bagel. He’d given Benny five days off starting today. He ran upstairs, grabbed his bags, and was reading a text from Anna, when he heard the motorcade pull up. He’d apologized to his sister for going off on her about the box of sex toys last week, and as usual, she’d forgiven him. He typed out his goodbye and told her to hug Jacob for him, before pocketing his phone. 

Before he could pick up his bags, Dean was knocking at the door. He greeted him and reached for his luggage, but Dean beat him, hefting the garment bag onto his shoulder. “I can carry my bags, Dean. You’re not a bellhop.” Benny’s words about Dean thinking he was the hired help came to mind and for a few seconds, they wrestled over control of the suitcase.

“Cas, what the hell, man. Let me get them.”

“No, I can carry my own fucking suitcases,” Castiel argued. Dean blew out an angry huff and released the bag, but held onto the one that carried Castiel’s suits. They both stomped across the porch like two posturing bulls. Agents Henrickson and Harvelle gave them a wide berth. At the rear of the Tahoe, Dean made a show of stowing the garment bag and holding out his hand for Castiel’s rolling luggage. 

Harvelle opened his door and he settled inside. “Dean, back with me, please,” he ordered. Dean’s eyes narrowed, but he obeyed. After making sure the speakers were off, he snapped. “You might be under the government’s employ and by design, mine, but I will not have you acting like a fucking servant. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, _Sir._ ” And fuck if his tone wasn’t telling Dean the opposite. 

He released a long exhale, counted to ten, and tried again. “You are so damn stubborn. I don’t see why you can’t treat me like any other friend. Would you insist on carrying their bags?”

Dean’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. “You seem to forget that you’re the  _Vice President_ , Cas, and I  _do_  work for you.”

“Is that how you really see me? Just my title?” Castiel held his breath awaiting Dean’s answer.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Cas... I have to keep reminding myself that you _are_ the Vice President. We’ll never have the type of friendship where you can come over for beer and football.”

Castiel sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. “In a perfect world, and my title didn’t matter, would you invite me over for beer and football?”

“Yeah.” The single word was said with so much feeling that Castiel opened his eyes to stare. Their eyes held for several heartbeats.

He knew his next question was out of line, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know. “And in that same perfect world, would you want to... see where this attraction would lead us?”

Dean licked his lips and turned his face to the passing scenery. “I’m not good at hypothetical situations, Cas.”

The rest of the trip was silent. Dean had answered. He just didn’t know it, but Castiel didn’t get to where he was today without being good at reading people. 

Air Force Two, the Boeing C-32 designated for the Vice President, sat waiting on the tarmac. The motorcade pulled up to the stairs leading up to the aircraft. Castiel waited for Dean to get out and rendezvous with his team. Agent Harvelle was the one to open his door, while Dean and Agent Henrickson greeted the pilot and crew. 

All in all, it took about thirty minutes for everyone to get on board and get the luggage stowed away for the flight. Castiel had moved to his office to set up his laptop and stay out of everyone’s way. The pilot, Air Force Colonel Seale, walked by on his way to the cockpit, but stopped to salute him. Castiel stood to return the gesture. “Glad to see you again, Colonel.”

“Nice to be flying with you again, Sir.” This was his third flight with the colonel and Castiel knew he and his staff were in competent hands.

When he was informed it was time for takeoff, Castiel moved out to the main area and sat in one of the many standard seats. He glanced around and saw Dean sitting one row back. The agent looked pale and Castiel narrowed his eyes as he took in the man’s hands gripping the arm rests, the beads of sweat on his upper lip, and the tense set of his shoulders. 

Castiel unbuckled himself and rose to cross the aisle. He took the empty seat next to Dean. The agent looked up, surprised obvious in his features. “Is everything alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, his voice higher pitched than usual. “Did you need me for anything?” The jets engines rumbled and then the din increased as the plane began to move. Dean’s eyes darted from side to side.

“Dean, are you afraid of flying?” Castiel asked his question quietly, keeping his voice soothing.

“What? No. That’s stupid.” The man would not meet Castiel’s eyes. Uncaring about how it would look to his staff, Castiel stood. He figured they had about five minutes to taxi to the runway. 

“Could you come with me, please?” Dean looked up at him, fear seemingly forgotten in his confusion.

“Where?” Dean asked, hands still gripping the arm rest as the tarmac raced by the windows.

“Sir, perhaps you should take your seat,” Agent Henrickson said, bringing everyone’s attention to Castiel’s stance in the middle of the aisle. He didn’t want to embarrass Dean so he had to think fast.

“I just got a text about a pressing matter and I need to discuss it privately with Agent Winchester. We will be going to my private quarters for the takeoff.” Dean seemed to think the request was legitimate and unbuckled his belt with shaking hands. The two men quickly moved to the rear of the plane and took seats in the aft cabin. “Buckle in,” Castiel ordered and Dean did what he was told. He was still pale, but Castiel had managed to take his mind off his fear for a few moments. The plane began to move faster and Dean’s symptoms returned. “Dean, look at me.” His request went unanswered. Dean’s eyes looked unfocused. “Dean,” he said sharply, commanding attention.

Green eyes, filled with fear, met his. “I need you to focus on me. Do you understand?” Dean nodded. Castiel could see that Dean was trying to pull himself out of it. 

“I’m sorry...” Dean whispered. His teeth captured his lower lip and Castiel almost winced at a phantom pain. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Castiel made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He took Dean’s hands in his and held them tightly. “Dean, focus on me.” He caught the briefest of nods and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. The plane’s engines changed pitch and Castiel heard an almost inaudible whimper. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.” There it was... a flicker of interest in those eyes. “Since you have taken over my detail, I’ve felt safer... because I know you are the best at what you do. I love your sense of humor and seeing you each morning makes me smile.” Dean began to shake his head as the wheels went up. “I only hope that you will not hold this against me.” The agent’s gaze narrowed in confusion. Castiel took a deep breath and stole a kiss. It was brief and chaste, but it was enough to snap Dean out of the fog of fear he’d let settle over him.

“I... uh...” Dean’s eyes were round with shock.

“I suppose that could be construed as sexual harassment,” Castiel said with a shrug. “But dire circumstances require dire measures. Surely, they taught you that in Secret Service School.”

Dean’s burst of laughter made Castiel smile. “Kissing someone wasn’t covered in  _Secret Service School_ , Sir.”

“Whatever works,” Castiel quipped, shrugging again before easing back into his seat and staring forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean relax, a smile affixed to his lips.

Several minutes ticked by and then Dean whispered, “Thank you, Cas.” Castiel nodded and reached for his book, knowing instinctively that Dean wouldn’t want him to make a big deal about it.

Dean leaned back in his seat and stared at Cas’ profile as he read a paperback novel. Dean couldn’t see the cover, but Cas seemed to lose himself in it. It allowed Dean time to think about what just happened between them. The kiss was a surprise... no, that was an understatement. 

He’d let his fear of flying affect his job and that wasn’t acceptable. He was angry at himself for allowing anyone to see him like that. Funny how no one else picked up on it but Cas. He’d flown before, but he had a prescription for a sedative to help. He couldn’t risk taking anything like that when he was on duty though. Falling asleep and drooling all over his tie wouldn’t make his team or the man he was sworn to protect feel safe.

Once they were airborne, he relaxed. Was that Cas’ plan? Kiss the fear out of him? Not that it was much of a kiss... It was enough to make Dean slip into a fantasy of joining the mile-high-club starring the Vice President. He closed his eyes and let the daydream play. In his brief tour of the plane, he knew that behind that curtain was a queen size bed. If he remembered correctly, the spread was a dark blue. Cas would look good on it with his ridiculous eyes and that rich, dark brown hair just waiting for Dean to run his fingers through it. He’d be wearing black silk boxers... no, expensive boxer briefs... no, nothing. Dean smiled to himself. Dean would be kneeling between his legs, looking down at him. His cock would be hard. Was he cut? Uncut? Dean had both in his past and he had no preference. 

The man’s thighs didn’t take any imagination. Dean saw those damn thighs on a daily basis. Firm, muscular, thick... covered in dark hair. Dean wanted to think Cas had a thick bush. He’d bend down and kiss the length of Cas’ cock ending at the base, where he could inhale Cas’ scent. He’d take one of Cas’ balls in his mouth, gently sucking on it... releasing it to move to the other one and Cas would murmur his name...

“Dean... Dean?” Dean blinked and shook himself out of his fantasy. Castiel was looking at him curiously. 

“Sorry... sorry,” he mumbled, sitting up straighter. He thanked God and all that was holy for the loose slacks he wore for the trip. To be safe, he dropped his hands in his lap. “Must have dozed off.”

“Your eyes were open.” Leave it to Cas...

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean said snidely to cover his embarrassment.

“That would be Vice President Obvious to you,” Cas said with a smirk.

“Very funny.” Dean looked out the window at the blue expanse of sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. “Where are we?”

Cas consulted the tablet built into the wall by his seat. He tapped at the screen and then a cartoon like plane showed over a map of the world. “It seems we are about three hours out.”

“So, basically, we are over the Atlantic Ocean? Great...” Dean started going through all the disaster movies about planes going down. If they ditched, would he be lucky enough to land on a deserted island? Like the show  _Lost_... only with more sex and less weird ass storylines. He’d tap Sayid. He was one hot dude. He went on to play in that show  _Sense 8_. Now, that was a show... sex, hot men and women, and just the right amount of crazy shit.

“Are you always like this when you fly?” Castiel asked, turning in his seat to face Dean.

“Like what?” Was he really going to go into his fear of flying. Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

“Scattered. It’s like you zone out.”

“I don’t zone out,” Dean argued. He was a Secret Service agent, he didn’t  _zone out_.

“You just did.” 

“Did not,” Dean responded, knowing he sounded like a child. Next, he’d be telling Cas not to breathe the air he wanted to breathe. Cas’ amused expression told Dean everything he needed to know. “I was just daydreaming. Jeez, must be tough to be so perfect all the time.”

Cas tilted his head to the side and hummed a few seconds before he spoke. “I am far from perfect, Dean.”

“Right...you got looks, intelligence, a killer body, money, and you’re the fuckin’ Vice President. What are your imperfections? Huh? Let’s see... you have disgusting gas after eating broccoli? Or maybe you snore really loud? Or... you have a testicle that's undescended?” Dean eyed him quizzically.

“Both my balls are fine,” Cas said, looking pissy, and that made Dean chuckle.

“So, gas or snoring? Which is it?”

“No one has mentioned that I snore and for the record, broccoli makes everyone fart.” To hear the Vice President of the United States say the word  _fart_  made Dean throw back his head and laugh loudly. “But I have other imperfections,” Cas said petulantly and that made Dean laugh harder. Cas shoved his shoulder. “And what are your imperfections, Mr. Underwear Model?”

Dean stopped laughing, mouth agape. “Underwear Model? What are you talking about?”

“As if you didn’t know. You do have mirrors in your home, don’t you? You are movie star handsome. Even your hair is perfect.”

“I have bowed legs and I do not have a six pack... more like a dad bod,” Dean countered.

“Dad bod? What is that?”

“Come on, you know, soft around the middle. Not like your chiseled abs.”

“I do not have  _chiseled_  abs. You make me sound like a gym rat.”

“If the shoe fits.”

Cas was eying him speculatively. “And what about your testicles, Dean?”

“What?” Dean’s voice was more of a squeak.

“Turnabout is fair play. You asked about mine.”

“Yeah, but that was a joke. You can’t go around asking about a dude’s balls.” Cas quirked an eyebrow and damned if that wasn’t sexy as fuck. Dean huffed. “My nuts hang fine.”

“I am very happy to hear that, Dean.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and snatched up Cas’ book, ready to change the subject. “ _The Obsidian Chamber_. Cool, I love Pendergast.” Dean loved the series by Preston and Child. The strangely fascinating FBI agent was one of Dean’s favorite characters.

“Have you read this one?” Cas asked, tapping the book still in Dean’s hands.

“Not yet. I have  _Crimson Shore_  in my suitcase.”

“You can borrow this when you finish it,” Cas offered. Dean thumbed the pages and his eyes fell on a scrawled signature inside the front cover. He froze and stared down. Inside were the autographs of both authors. 

“Holy shit,” Dean mumbled, tracing the names with his fingertip.

“They are very nice. Next time they are on tour, I will introduce you.” Cas said it like it wasn’t a big deal, but those two authors were favorites of Dean’s. He’d give anything to meet them.

The next two hours were spent discussing books and for once, Dean didn’t feel like he needed to hide his love of reading. They spoke of Vonnegut and Douglas Adams. Their conversation segued into music and Dean was surprised at Cas’ knowledge of classic rock. They were so caught up in their debate over the best song by Led Zeppelin that Dean didn’t register they were landing until he felt the gear engage under the plane. At his look of panic, Cas took his hand. “Dean, focus on me. Don’t make me kiss you again.”

Dean stared into Cas’ ocean blue eyes and wished for a kiss. He felt Cas’ thumb moving over his knuckles and the touch was soothing. He was still staring when the plane touched down in London.

It was dark when they exited the plane at Stansted Airport. Castiel waited as Dean conferred with his team. It was almost ten London time. Dean appeared at the hatch. “We’re clear, Mr. Vice President.” Dean was good at keeping things professional in front of Castiel’s staff. Not one of them seemed to notice that he and the head of his security detail spent the entire flight in his private quarters. If they did notice, no one was brave enough to question it. For this visit, he’d only brought Hannah, his secretary, Meg, his press secretary, and Kevin, a young intern assigned to him. 

The four of them exited the plane and made their way to the SUVs waiting for them. Meg got in with Castiel, leaving Hannah and Kevin to ride in the two others. Dean, as usual, got into the front seat of Castiel’s vehicle. The driver slowly pulled in behind the one carrying Kevin. “So, you and Mr. Hottie...”

Castiel stared over at her. “What are you talking about, Meg?” So much for no one noticing. He would need to play it cool.

“It must have been a very important text to keep Agent Winchester in your private quarters the entire trip.”

“We discussed the text and then he fell asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He has been working long hours getting ready for this trip,” Castiel said matter-of-factly.

“Does he snore? Please tell me he snores. The man is too fucking perfect to be human.” Her reference to snoring reminded him of his conversation with Dean and he found himself smiling. Meg caught it, of course. “He does snore,” she squealed. “He’s single, isn’t he?”

“I believe so,” Castiel answered, his tone cooler than it should have been. She looked at him for several long seconds. Meg was too inquisitive. Her journalist’s instincts were the reason he’d hired her. “I’m really not sure though. I just glanced over his file,” he lied, needing to throw her off the scent.

“I wonder if he’d be interested in a cocktail.” Jealousy stabbed Castiel in the heart. The thought of Dean with someone else left him feeling anguished. He had no right. Dean only saw him as a friend... a friend he couldn’t invite over for beer and football.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t fraternize with other employees, Meg.” Castiel’s gaze went to the front, to the back of Dean’s head. The lights of London were reflected on his skin as they sped through the streets.

“I don’t remember that rule in the handbook,” she said sarcastically. “I think I would have remembered that one.”

Castiel was saved from more debate when the SUV stopped at the rear entrance of the Corinthia Hotel. Dean jumped out and was, again, met with members of his team. He spoke into his wrist-piece and listened intently before opening Castiel’s door. “Your rooms are ready, Mr. Vice President. If you’d follow me.” 

Dean led them through a long hallway used for the purpose of getting famous guests into and out of the hotel without drawing attention. Dean was quiet on the elevator ride. Meg made it a point to stand next to the agent, looking up at him adoringly. When the doors opened, she moved ahead to walk next to Dean. Castiel was annoyed but couldn’t do anything about it. Agents Harvelle and Henrickson flanked him as he followed the two of them.

Dean keyed open Meg’s door. “Ms. Masters, your room...” 

“I’m having drinks sent up later, Agent Winchester. Maybe you could join me for a nightcap.” Castiel almost smiled at the look of panic on Dean’s face.

“Uh, thanks for the invite, Ms. Masters...”

“It’s Meg. No need to be all formal, is there?” She trailed a red-tipped finger over Deans bicep. 

“Meg... okay, well, again... thanks, but I’ve got some things to take care of before the morning.”

"Raincheck, then?” Beside Castiel, Agents Harvelle and Henrickson were staring at the ceiling, lips twitching at their team leader's obvious discomfort. 

“Yeah... raincheck,” Dean said and hurried off. Meg gave Castiel a triumphant grin before closing her door. 

Dean opened Castiel’s suite and walked in before him. An agent was already inside and Dean greeted him by name. “Michael, everything a go for tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sir.” Castiel knew his schedule was light tomorrow. He was having breakfast with Prince Harry. Then he was meeting Prime Minister May for a tour of Parliament. After that, he was free until Tuesday, the day of the gala.

Dean and Agent Cohen excused themselves and left Castiel alone. He walked around the luxury suite awaiting his luggage. He hoped Dean would be the one delivering it. He opened the French doors that led to the large balcony and stepped outside. With the flick of a switch, the outdoor lanterns came on illuminating the space. While it wasn’t his first trip to London, he’d never stayed here before and the view was remarkable. He leaned against the railing taking it all in. “God damn it, Cas. I leave you alone for five minutes and you make yourself a target,” Dean roared, plunging the balcony into darkness before coming out and grabbing his arm. “Get inside.”

Out of sorts because of Meg’s flirtations, Castiel yanked his arm away from Dean. “I’m fine, Dean. No one even knows I’m here.” The press was informed he’d be staying at another hotel on the other side of the city. 

“Ever heard of leaks, Cas? They happen. You aren’t going to be stupid on my watch.” Castiel felt a surge of anger. 

“Stupid?” He needed to get away from Dean before he said something he couldn’t take back. He stomped into the suite and snatched up his suitcase, leaving the garment bag where Dean had draped it over the back of the couch. He slammed the bedroom door. His breathing ragged, he all but threw the piece of luggage onto the king bed. The knock was tentative. “Leave me alone, Dean.”

“Cas... I wasn’t calling you stupid.” 

“Weren’t you?” Castiel turned to face the closed door. 

“No. You just scared me. Okay?”

“And acting like a Neanderthal helped make your point?” It was a low blow, but Castiel’s feelings for the man were making him crazy. There was silence on the other side of the door and Castiel wondered if he’d gone too far. He waited, slowly counting to ten. At nine, he opened the door. Dean was sitting on the couch, head in his hands. He looked up at the noise. Their eyes met and Castiel licked his lips. He watched as Dean tracked the movement.  _So_... the agent wasn’t unfazed by the attraction after all.  _Interesting_.

Dean stood. “I should go.”

“Dean...”

He held up a hand. “No, Cas, just... I need to go.” 

Castiel watched him walk out the door. He sighed heavily. He knew Dean was under a lot of pressure with this trip. Going out of the country was a logistical nightmare for the Secret Service. He spied the telephone on an end table and called down to the front desk. 

“This is Vice President Novak. I need a six pack of your best beer sent to the room of Dean Winchester, US Secret Service... Yes. Place it on my account... Thank you.” He hung up and sent a text.

**Text to Dean/11:22 pm – I'm sorry. You aren’t as hairy as a caveman.**

He went with light because if he tried to be serious, he might wind up begging the agent to come back to his suite. 

  



	7. Chapter 7

Dean wouldn’t allow himself to think about the kiss until long after they landed. He’d loved the banter with Cas on the plane and then berated himself for wanting more... wanting another kiss... wanting... what? 

In order to keep his mind off Cas, he’d thrown himself into his job... getting the Vice President to the hotel in one piece. Already teetering on the edge of sanity, Meg Master’s invitation and blatant flirting left him floundering for his footing. He had to get his head back into the game. He couldn’t afford to let himself get sidetracked. Not by Cas... and definitely not by the press secretary. Though she would be the safer bet if he felt the itch. 

Once both of them were behind closed doors, his pulse settled to a more normal tempo. He was all set to go to his own room, just across the hall from Cas, one he would share with Victor, when the bellmen stepped out of the elevator pushing the carts with their various luggage. He refused to take Meg’s to her room and pawned it off on Victor. Once the team’s was put in their rooms, the only cart left held Cas’ bags. 

He escorted the bellmen to Cas’ door and gave the young man a nice tip. “Thanks,” he said with a nod. Once he was heading back toward the elevator, Dean knocked on the Vice President’s door. When he didn’t get an answer, he used his key card to get inside. It was one of the perks of being the team leader. He had access to every room on this floor. 

His trained eyes scanned the room and noted the glare of lights on the balcony. “Christ,” he muttered, jogging over to the bank of switches and extinguishing the lanterns with a flick of his wrist. “God damn it, Cas. I leave you alone for five minutes and you make yourself a target.” Dean’s voice seemed to echo off the surrounding buildings. He wrapped his hand around Cas’ arm and pulled. “Get inside,” he ordered tersely.

Cas wrested his arm away and glared at him. “I’m fine, Dean. No one even knows I’m here.” Yeah, Dean knew that, but you still didn’t wave around a t-bone in front of a pack of hungry wolves. 

“Ever heard of leaks, Cas? They happen. You aren’t going to be stupid on my watch.” Dean saw the set of Cas’ jaw and knew he’d crossed the line. He couldn’t very well admit that seeing Cas out on the balcony in clear range of a rifle from any number of the surrounding buildings scared the shit out of him. 

“Stupid?” Okay, so he’d pissed the man off. Dean watched him march away from him, grab his things, and slam the bedroom door. Dean winced at the sharp sound. Well, he couldn’t leave it like that. He took a deep breath and walked across the thick carpet. He knocked. “Leave me alone, Dean.”

Cas sounded... not necessarily pissed... more like resigned... or disappointed. Dean rested his hand on the wooden door and said, “Cas... I wasn’t calling you stupid.” 

“Weren’t you?” Dean felt the words like a physical slap. He removed his hand as if it would keep Cas’ disappointment in him at bay.

“No. You just scared me. Okay?” Cas wouldn’t have to know how much admitting that cost Dean. 

“And acting like a Neanderthal helped make your point?” Dean dragged his teeth over his lower lip and turned to go. What could he possibly say to fix this? He’d fucked up this tentative thing between them. He had every intention of leaving, but his legs felt weak. Maybe it was the long flight. Flying always did him in. Or maybe it was the feeling of absolute fear at seeing Cas on the balcony. Whatever it was, he needed to sit for a sec and catch his breath. He rubbed his palms over his face and then left them there, putting pressure on his eyes. The beginnings of a headache gnawed at his temples.

The bedroom door opening made Dean look up. Cas was standing in the threshold like he was afraid to come closer. Dean tried to figure out where the man’s head was by staring into his eyes. He couldn’t read him... and then his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. Dean swallowed and abruptly stood. “I should go.”

“Dean...” 

No, he couldn’t do this. He needed to get away now before he did something insanely stupid. He held up a hand. “No, Cas, just... I need to go.” 

The door closing behind him seemed like a bad omen. He quickly crossed the hall in case Cas decided to follow him and let himself into his room, hating the disappointment he felt because the man didn’t see fit to chase after him. Now, if that wasn’t some Hollywood shit... 

Inside the suite, he found Victor relaxing on the couch, television showing golf. “Get Angel bedded down?” 

“Yeah. Safe and sound,” Dean replied, loosening his tie. He flopped down on the other end of the sofa and toed off his shoes. He stretched his legs and put his feet on the coffee table. He’d just watch TV long enough to ease some of the tension and then go to bed. 

Dean leaned his head back and eyed the mini-fridge. He could really go for a beer right now, but he wasn’t about to pay eight bucks for one. If he caught a break tomorrow, he’d grab some for the room. His phone pinged and he frowned. It was getting close to midnight. 

**Text to Dean/11:22 pm – I'm sorry. You aren’t as hairy as a caveman.**

He couldn’t have stopped the grin for all the money in the world. Victor was staring at him. “Lady friend?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Dean didn’t elaborate and Victor turned his eyes back to the television as Kevin Na sank a putt.  

The knock on the door had both men up on their feet, guns in hand. Dean edged to the side of the door and called out. “Who is it?”

“Room service.” Dean nodded to Victor and the other agent took his position on the other side of the door. They didn’t order room service.

“Who called the order in?” Dean asked through the door.

“Vice President Novak,” came the voice. 

Holding his gun behind his back, Dean opened the door, leaving Victor to cover him. “The Vice President isn’t in this room.” Dean needed more information. Did Novak call room service? He knew better than that. If he wanted something, he was to call his detail and they’d arrange for delivery.

“No, sir, this is for Dean Winchester,” the young man read off the ticket. Then he pointed to the six pack of beer, on ice, sitting on the cart behind him.

“Well, in that case, come on in,” Victor said, eyeing Dean speculatively. 

The hotel employee pushed the cart into the room and Dean handed him a five for his trouble. At the hotel rate, the beer probably cost Cas about twenty bucks. 

After the guy left, Victor picked up a bottle. “Fuller’s Vintage Ale. Sounds expensive. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why Angel is sending you a gift like this.”

Dean felt his face heat, but didn’t look away. “It isn’t... he just did something stupid.”

“So, the beer is an apology?” Dean shrugged and took one of the cold bottles. He twisted off the top and took a swig, hoping to avoid the conversation. The ale had a strong malt backbone and was hoppy without being bitter. He liked it.

“I guess,” Dean finally responded. Victor must have sensed Dean wasn’t comfortable talking about it, and he dropped it. He gave one last longing look at the beer and turned to resume his seat on the couch. “Hey, I can’t drink all these. Have one.” The other agent grinned and snagged on of the bottles. He knocked the neck of it against Dean’s.

After his third beer, Dean yawned and glanced at his watch. It was well after one. He had never been one to need a whole lot of sleep, but jet lag had caught up with him.  Victor had gone to bed already and he made one last call to the night shift. Everything was quiet in the hotel. One of his men was stationed in the security offices of the Corinthia watching the bank of screens showing feeds from the various cameras in and around the building. 

Dean went to bed knowing his charge was safe and sound. Thankfully, he was too tired to dwell on his feelings for the man sleeping across the hall.

 

Breakfast had been slated for nine and that meant that Castiel had to be up and dressed by eight-thirty. He was ready when Dean knocked on his door. From his smile, Castiel knew their spat had been forgiven.

The Dean Street Townhouse was in the Soho District of London. From the Royal protection officers standing in front of the establishment, Castiel knew Prince Harry was already inside. He waited for Dean to lead the way into the restaurant. The Prince, dressed casually in a tan sweater, smiled and stood. Castiel shook his hand and they both sat. Dean and his team spread out and took their places next to the Prince’s own security detail.

The Prince was both intelligent and warm. Castiel found the conversation to be stimulating as both men latched onto their favorite subjects, basic human rights and the veterans of their country’s military. All too soon, it was time to leave and the two men, again, shook hands and promised to keep in touch. 

From there, the motorcade took him to Parliament. He was excited to meet Prime Minister May and get his tour of the ancient landmark. The woman was everything he’d imagined, brilliant and strong. He walked beside her through Stephen’s Hall, the House of Lords Library, and the Robing Room, but stepping into the House of Commons gave Castiel a thrill. He stood in the center of the room and turned slowly to take in the whole effect. The Prime Minister smiled indulgently. “Quite a feeling, isn’t it?” She asked in her clipped accent.

“It is,” Castiel said, his awe hard to disguise. His gaze found Dean and Victor standing in the balcony looking down at them. God, he was beautiful. He quickly turned away to focus on the Prime Minister’s running commentary on the history of Parliament. 

The tour ended with tea at 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister’s residence and office. There, the two of them talked about ways to benefit their two countries with smaller tariffs on traded goods. All in all, Castiel was pleased with their meeting and knew the President would be too.

With the rest of the day off, he asked to be taken back to the hotel. He was still tired from the trip and wanted to relax with a good meal and an early night. Dean keyed open his room for him and stepped back. Castiel nodded at the agent who’d been stationed outside of his door while they were gone. “Dean, would you like to go over tomorrow’s itinerary?”

“Sure,” Dean waved off Agents Harvelle and Henrickson. “I’ll catch y’all later.” Castiel was suddenly nervous at the thought of being alone with Dean. He fidgeted with his tie while Dean scoped out the suite. “Wanna sit here?” He asked indicating the dining room table by the terrace doors. 

“This is fine,” Castiel said, coming up to the table. Dean waited for him to sit and then he took his seat across from him. Castiel folded his hands together and rested them on the shiny wooden surface. 

Dean cocked his head to the side. “Did you make any changes?”

“No.” His stupid ruse to get Dean to stay with him for a little while was backfiring. He didn’t have anything to discuss with Dean. The itinerary hadn’t changed one iota. “I thought you might want to go over it...” He let his sentence trail off because Dean was going to see right through this little charade. When Dean’s mouth twitched, Castiel sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been over my schedule with your team hundreds of times, haven’t you?”

Dean pursed his lips and then grinned. “Not quite hundreds. Maybe thirty.”

“I have a confession to make,” Castiel mumbled, looking out of the doors onto the sunlit balcony.

“O...kay,” Dean drew out the word and Castiel could feel the other man’s eyes on him.

“I may have just wanted your company.” There. He said it. He held his breath waiting for Dean to come up with some stupid reason that they shouldn’t do this. He refused to look at the agent because that would make it even more embarrassing and painful.

“Cas...” His name was a whisper on Dean’s lips and Castiel faced him, taking in the perfect lines of his face, those beautiful eyes, and that kissable mouth. “We really...”

Castiel held up his hand. “If you are going to say we shouldn’t do this, then stop and listen... please.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say, Cas.” Dean exhaled loudly and then placed his hands palm down on the table. “But I’ll listen.”

“I want to be that friend you can have over for a beer, Dean.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel held up his hand to stop him. “I know it’s impossible right now. We might not be able to have that, but can’t we improvise?”

“Improvise?” 

“Yes. You can come over and watch football with me. We can drink beer and yell at the TV at my house.”

Dean slumped in his chair. “Cas, you have teams of people watching you night and day. Rumors will start. Hell, Victor is already thinking things because of the beer delivery last night.... you didn’t have to do that, by the way.”

Castiel was feeling defeated. Mick couldn’t handle the constant spotlight and he was used to being in a courtroom. He was foolish to believe someone like Dean would want to put all that aside to be with him. “I understand,” he said softly, tracing his fingertip along the fine woodgrain.

“I don’t want anything to jeopardize the vice presidency.” 

Slapping his palms on the table, Castiel stood up. “I wish you would stop worrying about my job,” he shouted. “I wish... I wish you could see me as a man and not my damn title.”

Dean stared up at him for what seemed like minutes, but in actuality was a couple of seconds. “I do see you as a man, Cas. And that’s my problem.” 

Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Castiel fell back into his chair, his eyes unwavering. “I want to see where this goes, Dean.”

Running his fingers through his gelled hair, Dean whistled softly. “Christ...Cas, I don’t know what to do here.”

Going for broke, Castiel stood up, moved to stand at Dean’s side, and held out his hand. Dean looked at it, bit his lip, and finally took it. Castiel pulled him to his feet and placed a light kiss on Dean’s lips. Dean’s soft moan made his knees weak. He lifted his face and met Dean’s eyes. “We aren’t still talking about friends having a beer together, are we?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel lowered his mouth again and this time, Dean was a willing participant in the kiss. It deepened and Castiel loved the taste of Dean. He let his hands come up to rest on Dean’s hips, drawing him even closer. Dean’s tongue entered his mouth like it belonged there... and maybe it did. Castiel felt the blood rushing south and broke the kiss before Dean felt his arousal.

They stood, less than a foot apart, staring and breathing hard. Dean spoke first. “’It’s complicated’ doesn’t begin to describe this,” he said, his forefinger pointing at himself and then Castiel.

“I wasn’t planning on announcing it on Facebook,” Castiel said dryly, catching the reference. He had people to handle his social media accounts, but he wasn’t born yesterday. He knew the jargon.

Dean’s laughter made Castiel smile. He realized his hands were still on Dean’s waist, and Dean’s were resting on his forearms. “Yeah, well, we can’t _announce_ this to anyone.”

Castiel’s smile faltered and his hands dropped, causing Dean’s to drop as well. “You said yourself, we wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret. Is that what you want?”

He stepped away from Castiel. “Cas, what I want and what we have to do are totally different, man. You gotta know that.” Once again, Castiel felt a sense of devastation. He’d only gotten a taste of Dean and now, he’d be like an addict wanting his next fix but being unable to get it.

“I understand,” Castiel repeated. Self-preservation kicked in and he said, “Could you please have my dinner sent up to me?” His tone was dismissive and he saw Dean wince.

“Yeah, sure, Cas. Any idea what you want? I think there is a menu around here somewhere,” Dean said, starting to look through the drawers of the desk.

“I don’t care,” Castiel said stiffly and opened the door to show Dean out. 

Knowing their conversation could now be overhead by the agent guarding the door, Dean’s slipped into his role easily. “I will take care of it,  _Sir_.”

Thirty minutes later, he answered the knock and Agent Harvelle pushed a cart into the room. “Your dinner, Mr. Vice President.”

“Stupid... stupid... stupid,” Dean muttered when he closed the door to his suite. Victor looked up from his laptop.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Dean snapped. He immediately regretted it, but instead of apologizing he went to the desk and flung open the top drawer. He snatched up the room service menu and opened it to the dinner section. Jabbing the numbers on the phone, he avoided looking at Victor. 

“This is room service. May I help you?”

“Yes. I need the Josper-Grilled Cumbrian Beef Burger sent to the Royal Penthouse. You’ll need to call Suite 703 before you send it up.”

“Of course. Would you be needing anything to drink, Sir?”

Crap. He knew Cas drank coffee in the mornings, but he’d never noticed what else he liked. “A glass of red wine,” he said quickly. Cas seemed like a wine drinking kind of guy.

He hung up and turned to face the music. Victor was staring at him, brow raised in question. “What?”

“Look, Dean, I don’t give a shit what’s going on between you and Novak.”

“There’s nothing going on,” Dean lied... no, wait, he wasn’t lying anymore. He’d made sure of that. Cas’ face was going to haunt him forever.

Victor was looking like he didn’t believe him and he hated putting their trust in each other in jeopardy. Victor snapped his laptop shut. “Since Angel is in for the night and you’re handling his meal, I’m going to go downstairs and have some dinner.” Dean wanted to suggest he wait and they could go down together, but Victor was already halfway to the door. Dean’s mouth opened and then closed. The door shut behind his partner.  _Fuck_.

He went into his bathroom and rummaged around in his shaving kit until he found the bottle of aspirin. His head was beginning to throb. Downing the pills with some water from the tap, he stared at his reflection. “You’re an idiot, Winchester.”

But he wasn’t, was he? He was doing what was best for both of them. Cas didn’t need to be hindered by a scandal and Dean could lose his career if the press got ahold of any inkling of impropriety. The press could be vultures. They’d been pretty cool with Cas so far, but all it would take was one stupid mistake. He could see it now.  _Vice President caught with his pants down. Secret Service Agent to blame_.

He gave his image one last disgusted look and went back to the desk where his own laptop rested.

Today had been an easy day because his team had help from the Royal protection officers. Tomorrow shouldn’t be bad either since it was on the estate of a member of the royal family, but Dean decided to read through his notes and protocol list anyway. He’d barely gotten through the first page when the room’s phone rang.

Once he handled the room service issue, he called Jo and asked her to meet him at the elevator. The two of them inspected the cart quickly and then Jo took command of the cart. “You sure,” she asked. “I mean... you and the Angel seem to be close.”

“We’re not. And I’m kind of busy.” He needed to dispel any rumors, even those within his own team. She shrugged, but started pushing the cart down the hall. He returned to his room, but the words on the screen were running together and he rubbed his eyes. The aspirin had eased the headache, but now, he was restless. He could go downstairs and try to find Victor or any of the others from the day shift. Maybe have a beer with them... just like one of the boys.

Or he could stay in the room and feel sorry for himself. Life was so much easier when he was chasing bad guys. Grumbling to himself about ridiculous prices, he grabbed a bag of chips out of the minibar and popped open one of the two remaining bottles of ale Cas had given him. 

He didn’t sleep for shit that night and had to down four cups of coffee to get himself moving. Victor seemed to be treating him like normal and Dean was going to take it. The festivities at Princess Anne’s estate didn’t begin until lunch, but it was a two-hour car ride, so he’d scheduled their departure for ten.

Cas had sent him a text message about his breakfast and Dean was both relieved and saddened by it. He called in the order and once again, had Jo deliver it.

His headache was in full swing by the time they were ready to hit the road. The sun wasn’t overly bright, but Dean still wore his aviators. Cas wasn’t even looking at him and the motherfucker actually asked Victor about the drive time instead of him. Angry, Dean sat in the front seat and sulked the entire two hours it took to get to Princess Anne’s estate in Minchinhampton. 

The estate was bustling with activity and Dean told his team to be alert but unintrusive. He had Victor and Jo take point and both gave him quizzical looks, but did as they were told. Dean brought up the rear, eyes scanning the crowd. The men were in morning coats and some wore top hats. Dean, in his standard black suit, felt severely underdressed. 

The women were all in pastel dresses and wore a variety of hats as well. They would have felt right at home on Derby Day, he thought to himself. His eyes found Cas. The Vice President was talking to a couple of men in formal attire.  He was smiling and nodding his head. Cas was in his element, Dean thought bitterly. And he really thought he wanted Dean. “Yeah, right,” he muttered. 

“You say something,” Jo asked from beside him.

“Just wondering if they had any real food here,” Dean replied, gesturing toward the buffet. Platters of tiny sandwiches, delicately carved vegetables, and other unidentifiable food were laid out on stark white tablecloths.

“Don’t think royalty do burgers and fries,” she said, voice lowered as a couple of fancy dressed women walked by. 

“Damn shame, if you ask me,” Dean said just as a man in a tailored morning coat placed his hand on Cas’ shoulder. The touch was too familiar for a stranger and Dean’s hackles rose. Cas turned, gracing the man with a wide smile. “Who’s that?”

“That is Fergus Crowley. Singer, actor, man about town... and  _gay_. He seems quite taken with our Angel,” Jo said, putting on a poor imitation of a Brit. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, watching how the man was right up in Cas’ personal space. And his fuckin’ hand was now resting on Cas’ forearm. He was shorter than Cas, bearded, and he carried himself like a rich douche.  Cas leaned in and whispered something that had the Crowley character laughing. Before Dean could talk himself out of it, he marched over to the two men. “Mr. Vice President, may I have a word?”

Cas looked at him, head tilted to the side, for a few seconds, and then he turned to Crowley. “Fergus, could you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, Castiel. I’ll be waiting.”  _I’ll be waiting_ , my ass, thought Dean and he took Cas’ arm and pulled him away. It wasn’t until Cas looked pointedly down at Dean’s hand gripping his bicep that Dean realized he may have overstepped.

“Sorry, Sir,” Dean muttered, releasing his hold on Cas.

“Is there a problem, Dean?” His tone was cool and clipped.

“I just thought that guy was getting a bit handsy with you. I needed to know if you were into it or not, is all.”

Cas’ look was incredulous and Dean should have started back-peddling then, but he wasn’t given the chance. Cas pushed him behind one of the white tents and got up in his face. He had to go against all his training and _not_ shove the man away from him. “Strange. An old friend and I are having a conversation and you come up like a jealous lover. Were you jealous, Dean?” Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but Cas wasn’t having it. “You were the one who basically said nothing could happen between us. Who let you decide the rules, huh, Dean? You obviously aren’t interested. Maybe Crowley is? In fact...” Cas poked Dean’s chest with his finger. “... I may invite him back to the hotel tonight for a drink. Clear that with your team, will you?” With that parting shot, he spun on his heel and left Dean standing there feeling like a kid reamed out by the principal. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and took a second to collect himself before joining Jo again. She sent him a questioning look, but didn’t speak. 

“Where is Angel?”

“He’s back with his friend,” she said, nodding her head to the left. Dean followed the movement and saw Cas sitting at one of the tables, a glass of champagne in his hand, Crowley was close enough that their thighs were touching. He watched as Crowley’s hand come up to brush the back of Cas’ neck. How long was he going to have to watch this shit show? Was Cas really interested in that guy or was he just fucking with Dean? 

By late afternoon, the party was dying down and Dean’s nerves were close to the surface. Every little thing set him off. He’d managed to snap at each and every member of his team. “Go gather up the Angel and I’ll have the motorcade pull up to the front,” Dean said to Victor through his wrist mic. 

He was already by the SUV when Victor and Jo came around the corner leading Cas. The other members of the team were following closely behind. Dean stepped forward to open the door for Cas and he didn’t even glance up. Once he was settled inside, Dean closed the door and Victor spoke before he could get inside the vehicle. “The Vice President wanted me to remind you that he has a date tonight.”

“More like a booty call,” one of the other members said with a laugh. Dean rounded on him.

“What the fuck did you say?” The younger man took a step back and Dean felt Jo’s hand on his arm. He shook it off. 

“Not the time or place, Dean,” Victor said quietly, inclining his head toward the vehicle where Cas sat behind the dark tinted windows. The other agent looked scared and Dean curled his lip.

“You and me, kid, back at the hotel,” he snarled and got inside the SUV. “Let’s go,” Dean told the driver. In the side mirror, Dean watched his team scramble for the other vehicles. He knew he was being an ass, but this whole thing with Cas and Crowley had him pissed. 

He had no right to be jealous and that’s exactly what this was. Cas had called it. He was being a jealous little bitch. Crowley was a better match for Cas, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He brooded all the way back to the hotel, while Cas sat silent in the backseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love jealous Dean?


	8. Chapter 8

Angry didn’t even begin to cover what Cas was feeling. He’d been stupid enough to think that Dean would be stronger than Mick. That he could overcome the hardships of dating someone like him. But no, Dean worried about what everyone would think. Well, screw him. 

He made plans to go ahead with his meeting with Chief Singer to have Dean moved to another position. It had to be done to keep his sanity. Then the damn meal arrived. The man knew him too well. A burger and a glass of red wine. It was the perfect ending to a long day. 

As he lay in bed, his thoughts stayed on Dean. He couldn’t go on like this. He knew down deep in his bones that Dean was not only attracted to him, but that he cared about him – far beyond what a normal agent felt for his charge. If Dean wasn’t willing to give them a chance, there was absolutely nothing he could do.  

Castiel needed space and time to make his decision. The best way to do that was to avoid Dean as much as possible until they got back to the states where he could talk to Singer.  

He texted his breakfast order in lieu of calling Dean. As expected Agent Harvelle was the one who delivered it. Apparently, Dean was keeping his distance too. It would make things easier. 

Keeping his eyes off Dean was harder than he imagined. “Agent Henrickson, the drive is about two hours, correct?”  The agent answered affirmatively and Castiel was glad he thought to bring his laptop. At least, he’d have something to do to keep his mind from straying to  _what ifs_. 

The party itself was a beautiful affair laid out on the grounds of the estate. Between the Royal Guard, his secret service, and privately paid bodyguards, Castiel was safe to move around. After a time, he’d forgotten about his problems and was actually having a good time. He mingled and wished the princess a happy birthday.  

“Castiel, you never seem to age.” Castiel smiled. He knew that voice.  

“Crowley, I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said with a smile. The years had been kind to his old friend. They roomed together many years ago when Castiel took a semester of special classes at Oxford. The two of them had stayed in touch over the years and when Crowley was stateside, he always made time to have dinner with Castiel.  

They spent a few minutes catching up and then Crowley asked, “You still seeing that Paddy?”   

“Don’t call him that,” Castiel admonished. “His name is Mick and no, we are no longer seeing each other.”  

Crowley touched his forearm. “Damn, Castiel, I’m sorry. I thought you two were going to make a go of it.” 

Castiel shrugged. “Dating me has its drawbacks,” he said softly and took a sip of his champagne. Unwilling to let his personal life ruin his reunion with his friend, Castiel leaned in and whispered, “I did get a few months of great sex out of it though.” It was simpler to cover his pain with the raunchy humor Crowley loved. 

As expected, Crowley laughed and the sour mood was lifted. “Was he as...” Crowley was interrupted by Dean’s arrival. His face was stony and his posture was stiff. 

“Mr. Vice President, may I have a word?” 

Castiel cocked his head to the side in question, but it didn’t look like Dean was going to speak in front of Crowley. “Fergus, could you excuse me for a moment?” 

“Of course, Castiel. I’ll be waiting.”  

Dean took Cas’ arm in a tight grip and dragged him to a quiet spot beside one of the tents. Castiel made a point of looking at Dean’s hand and he quickly released him. “Sorry, Sir.”  

“Is there a problem, Dean?” He kept his tone cool and professional. 

“I just thought that guy was getting a bit handsy with you. I needed to know if you were into it or not, is all.”  _How dare he_. So, he didn’t want Castiel, but no one else was supposed to either. Not that Crowley and he would ever... but still. Castiel gave Dean a gentle, yet powerful shove until they were behind the tent out of sight from prying eyes. He brought his face to within inches of Dean’s and let him have it. All his pent-up emotions boiled to the surface. He may have led Dean to believe he wanted Crowley before he made his dramatic exit. He’d been proud of himself until he returned to Crowley’s side.  

“Sorry about that.” 

“And who was that hot piece?” Crowley asked. “He was a bit uptight, but I’ve always liked the strong, broody type.” Castiel felt Dean’s eyes on them and he scooted his chair closer to Crowley. Crowley’s expression turned to confusion. “What are you not telling me?” 

“Can you do me a favor?” Castiel knew this was a bad idea, but Dean made him crazy. 

“If I can,” Crowley responded immediately, concern in his eyes. “Does this have something to do with your handsome bodyguard?” 

“I need to make him jealous.” Crowley’s eyes widened comically and then he grinned.  

“Ah, it’s like that... well, you will have to give me all the juicy details.” As he spoke, his hand came up to caress the back of Castiel’s neck. It was then that Crowley’s smile faltered. “Why didn’t we ever...” he shrugged. 

“We were friends. Still are,” Castiel said simply as if that explained everything. And maybe it did. Maybe, just maybe Dean was correct about getting involved with a friend.  

“As always, you are the voice of reason.” Crowley ran a hand down his thigh and winked. “Is he watching?” 

“Indeed.” Dean looked ready to spit nails. It should have given Castiel some self-righteous pleasure, but instead, guilt washed over him. Game playing never turned out good for anyone. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon being dragged around by Crowley but he never let Dean out of his sight, until he was saying his goodbyes to the hostess.  

Agent Henrickson appeared at his side. “Mr. Vice President, your vehicle is waiting.” 

“Thank you.” To Crowley, he said, “You are stopping by the hotel tonight...” 

“Of course, Darling. I wouldn’t miss it. I will see you around seven.” He kissed Castiel on the cheek and waved to the agents. Crowley always was a showman. 

They walked across the grounds to the front of the estate. “Please make sure Agent Winchester knows I will have a visitor tonight. I told him earlier, but he might not remember.”  _Oh, Dean would remember alright_.  

When they reached the vehicles, Dean opened the door for him and he got inside without making eye contact. This farce wasn’t sitting well with him and he knew he should call the whole thing off. He stared at the back of Dean’s head, deep in thought, for the entire ride back to London. 

Safe in his room, he changed out of his semi-formal attire and pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from his alma mater. He checked the mini-fridge and saw enough supplies to have a couple of drinks with Crowley. It would be nice to talk to his old friend without worrying about who might be listening. 

Promptly at seven, there was a knock at his door. He opened it and Crowley, escorted by Dean himself, was standing in the hallway. “Hello, Darling.”  

“Hello, come on in.” He moved to the side and then spoke to Dean. “Thank you, Agent Winchester.” He closed the door on Dean’s pissed off face. 

Crowley strolled around the suite, whistling a nameless tune, while Castiel fixed them both a drink. Once he handed the glass to his old friend, Castiel deflated. He released a deep breath and dropped to the couch. Crowley swirled the ice in the amber liquid and pursed his lips. “This isn’t a social call then?” 

Castiel blinked up at him. “Of course, it is. I wanted a chance to catch up with my old friend.” Crowley’s expression told Castiel he wasn’t believed. He took a drink from his own glass and leaned back on the couch, letting his head fall back so he could stare at the ceiling. “I think I’m falling in love with the wrong person.” 

“Anyone I know?” Crowley settled into one of the armchairs and rested his elbows on his knees. 

“You’ve met.” 

“Ah, the  _agent_. Straight?” Castiel knew that was every gay man’s nightmare. To meet and fall in love with someone you could never have.  

“No, he likes both sexes, I believe.” He met Crowley’s eyes and asked, “Has that ever happened to you? 

Crowley took a large swig and winced as he swallowed the bitter liquid. “Once... a long time ago.  _But,_  we aren’t talking about me, Castiel. If he’s bi, what’s the problem?” 

“He’s on my staff,” Castiel hedged.  

“And your policy manual says it’s taboo to shag your subordinate? That’s a shame. You become one of the most powerful people in the US and can’t sex up someone on the payroll? I mean, I can understand the whole sexual harassment thing, but that’s not what this is about, is it?” 

“No,” Castiel said vehemently. “He’s just... he’s uncomfortable with my title. He says he wants to _protect_  me.” 

“Castiel,” Crowley’s tone made Castiel look at him. “How long have we known each other?” 

“Twenty years.” 

“Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?” 

Castiel shook his head. “No. Never.” 

“Then stop beating around the bush and talk to me.” He leaned back and waited.  

Castiel took another long drink before beginning. “His name is Dean...” 

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “The spitting kitten.” 

He frowned at Crowley’s description. “Kitten is not the word I’d use to describe Dean. He’s a highly decorated agent for the Secret Service and the head of my detail.” 

“And he thinks he’s not good enough for the Vice President?” 

“Exactly.” 

His friend stood and walked over to the glass doors leading to the terrace. “Was inviting me here tonight a ploy to make the boy jealous?” 

“No, God no... yes... shit. I’m sorry, Fergus. This whole thing has me out of my element. I’m not a game player, you know that. And I never wanted to use you like this. I really do enjoy your company and I needed someone to talk to,” Castiel pleaded, praying his friend would understand. 

“It is because I know you so well, that I will forgive you. Games  _aren’t_  your style. Why don’t you leave that up to the more  _experienced_.” Crowley said, turning and winking at Castiel. 

“This whole thing was a stupid idea,” Castiell said morosely. “Let’s catch up and forget about my pitiful love life.” 

“Of course, Darling. Anything you say.”  

Castiel steered the conversation far away from Dean and the two of them caught up. After a couple of drinks, he yawned and Crowley set his empty glass on the coffee table. “Someone’s tired and I have a long drive back to  Farnham.” 

Before he opened the door, he pulled Crowley close. “I wish you still lived in the states. I really miss our late-night binges.” 

“Ah, the Vice President doesn’t binge, Castiel. That is below your station.” They were both grinning when he let Crowley out. 

 

When the Angel was tucked securely in his room, Dean called the young agent into the suite he shared with Victor. “Dean, he didn’t mean anything by it. You know that, right?” Victor was pacing, clearing reading Dean’s mood. 

Dean’s jaw tensed. “Leave it, Vic.” His partner leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, but didn’t speak again. 

Answering the tentative knock, Dean opened the door and stood aside for the man to enter. Before Dean could begin, the agent said, “I was just joking around.” His tone wasn’t apologetic. 

Dean saw Victor roll his eyes at the younger man’s stupidity. “A joke? And what if the Vice President heard it? What if some passerby had heard it? Huh?” 

“No one did,” he said belligerently. Dean had been ready to ream the motherfucker and then let it go, but his attitude was grating on Dean’s nerves. 

“Guess we’re all lucky then, huh?” 

“Yeah.” Dean smiled at the man’s answer. Informal and disrespectful considering he was being called on the carpet. The agent smiled back, thinking his little counselling session was over. 

“We’re lucky... you, however, are not.” The smile faded and confusion set in. “You see, it’s like this... everyone on this team has to trust one another. I want to know that Vic here will have my back if the need arises. Right, Agent Henrickson?” 

“Right, Sir.” Good, Victor was on the same page now. The kid’s attitude wasn’t sitting well with the senior agent either. 

“Our main job... the  _reason_  we come to work every day... is across hall. We swore to protect him. From outside forces and from within.” Dean’s words began to sink in and the agent seemed to shrink. His jovial smile faded. “The Vice President deserves respect. Isn’t that right, Agent Henrickson?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean smiled at Victor’s quick response. 

“And you see, Agent Cunningham, I’m not feeling the respect from you.” 

“I... I apologize, Agent Winchester. It won’t happen again, Sir.” Dean smirked and moved toward the door. When he opened it, he gestured at the other agent. 

“I know it won’t. Pack your shit and I’ll make sure a ticket for the next plane home is waiting with your name on it. You are off my team. And son, count yourself _lucky_  you aren’t going to be stuck writing parking tickets.” 

“But...” Dean drew himself to his full height, a good three inches on the younger agent. He must have thought arguing with Dean was futile, because he scowled and stomped out of the room. Dean slammed the door a little harder than necessary. He met Victor’s eyes.  

“You got something to say?” Victor raised his hands in surrender and straightened.  

“Nope.” 

“He was too fucking cocky.” 

“He was,” Victor said calmly. 

“Cas...” Dean’s eyes widened at his slip. “Vice President Novak has already gone through that kind of shit with Trenton. I’m not having anyone on my team that makes him the butt of a joke.” 

“Ten-four,” his partner said and shrugged. “I think I’m going to go grab some dinner downstairs. I’ll have my mic open.” 

Dean stared at the closed door for a long time after Victor left. He’d fucked up.  At worst, Victor suspected something...at best, he thought Dean was on a power trip.  Either way, he was screwed and he knew the two of them would have to discuss it. 

He looked down at his watch. He had calls to make to get Cunningham home. He phoned headquarters, knowing Bobby would be his office. The chief never questioned Dean’s decision, he just said he’d take care of everything. 

As soon as he hung up, his earbud pinged. “Winchester,” he snapped into his mic. 

“There is a Fergus Crowley at the front desk to see Angel.” Dean’s mood worsened. This was what Cas needed. He just wished it wasn’t a jackass like Crowley. 

“Send him up after you search him.” 

Dean waited for a few seconds and then left his suite for the elevators. He leaned against the wall and watched the numbers lighting up as the car rose floor by floor. The doors slid open and there he was, Fergus Crowley. Dean wondered if he’d be visiting DC soon. “Mr. Crowley. Follow me.” 

“Anywhere, Darling.” Dean eye ticked in irritation. Was the asshole actually flirting with him when he was on his way to see Cas?  

Dean rapped his knuckles on Cas’ door and a moment later Cas opened it. He was dressed down in sweats and a t-shirt. “Hello, Darling.” The dude really threw that term of endearment around way too casually for Dean’s taste. 

Cas smiled. “Hello, come on in.” He wasn’t even looking at Dean. He only had eyes for the fancy pants dick. Dean narrowed his eyes. At least, Cas could acknowledge him. 

“Thank you, Agent Winchester.” The door shut in his face and Dean stood rooted to the spot.  _Could one actually feel their blood pressure rise?_  

There was a part of him that said to go back to his suite and let one of the junior agents stand by the door. Protocol said if the Vice President had a visitor, an agent would be alert and within calling distance at all times. He lifted his wrist to call one, but lowered it. No, he could do this. Cas was his responsibility.  

He took his position and stared at the tacky wallpaper. He’d been trained to let his mind wonder while being vigilant. Images of what might be going on behind the door made his head ache and his stomach hurt. But he did his job, because of Cas. 

At five after nine, the door to Cas’ room opened and Crowley stepped into the hallway. “Ah, Agent Winchester. Handsome and diligent. Wonderful qualities.” The smarmy man straightened his tie and checked to make sure his shirt was tucked it. It made Dean both furious and nauseous. He hung back, but followed the man to the elevator.  

It was Crowley that punched the down button and the jerk started whistling. What was that tune? Christ, it was  _I Want Your Sex_ , by that dude from Wham. Dean stepped closer. “Listen to me, Buddy. I don’t give a shit how close to Ca—the Vice President you are, I won’t let you disrespect him.” 

Crowley tilted his head and regarded Dean for a few seconds. Then his lip quirked up on a soft smile. “Let me impart some wisdom on you, young Winchester... men like Castiel only come along once in a lifetime. You can sit around with your thumb up your arse and watch him slip away with someone like me, or... you can grow a set of bollocks.”  

“So, you’re... what... telling me that you and he aren’t...” 

“Shagging? Doing the nasty? Fucking like bunnies? No, Agent. We are friends, nothing more and nothing less. He’s all yours. All tied up in a pretty ribbon if you get your head out of your tight, little hole.” Dean was so relieved that Cas hadn’t had sex with the man that he was shocked to find himself pinned to the wall, Crowley’s forearm across his throat. “Hurt him and I will make sure you live to regret it.” And just like that, he released Dean and stepped back, brushing imaginary dirt off his shirt.  

The doors opened with a ping and Harvelle stood inside the car. She looked back and forth between the two, her eyebrows raised in question. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” Crowley said to her, entering the elevator. To Dean, he winked. “I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you.” 

The elevator closed, cutting off the man’s smug face. Dean glanced at Cas’ room, the gold numbers on the door reflecting the hall’s fluorescent lights. He wished he was home, so he could get drunk. His life had become too damn complicated. 

Back in his suite, he paced, stared out the window, and paced again. He heard the door open and knew Victor would have questions. For a second, he thought of hiding in his room, but their relationship relied on trust.  He waited to face the music. 

Vic loosened his tie and slipped off his jacket, before sitting on the couch. He leaned back and looked up at Dean. Dean shrugged and said, “Well, he pissed me off.” 

“Cunningham or the Angel?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Cunningham, of course.” Dean wanted to deflect. He wanted to walk away. He wanted a fucking drink. 

“Dean...” he hissed softly. “Cunningham wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but if he would have been talking about anyone else but Novak, you wouldn’t have batted an eye.” 

“Not true...” Okay, sort of true. It was typical locker room talk. Vic’s expression told Dean he didn’t believe him. “Partially true,” he admitted.  

“And I think you’re pissed at Novak for some reason. You’ve been avoiding him. Before we left DC, you two were...” he paused as if looking for the right word. Dean said a prayer it wasn’t about  _feelings_. “Tight. Friends even. Now, you’re having Jo deliver his meals. You aren’t even looking at each other and he’s inviting someone up to his room for a nightcap. Talk to me, man.” 

Dean sat down on the couch and hung his head. “I’m attracted to him.” He closed his eyes and waited for the fallout. Waited for Vic to tell him how stupid he was. 

“No shit. If his eye fucks are anything to go by, he’s into you too. So, what’s the problem?”  

Dean’s eyes popped open. “Problem? You don’t see anything wrong with this picture? He’s the Vice President.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” Vic said sarcastically. “Who cares as long as you like each other. You’re both consenting adults.” 

“I’m his employee,” Dean said, like that explained everything... and for him it did. 

“Not really. You are a federal agent. He doesn’t have the authority to hire you or fire you. I don’t see the issue, Dean. It’s not like there’s a rule book that says you two can’t date.” 

“There’s not?” Dean stood and resumed his pacing. “Then there should be,” he finished petulantly, earning an eye roll from Vic. 

His partner also got to his feet and shrugged. “Guess it’s a moot point. He found someone else.” 

“No... that Crowley fucker didn’t... they didn’t...they’re just friends.” 

“You spied on them?” Vic’s eyes were wide and he looked like he was going to take Dean down on the spot. Dean held up his hands 

“No, Jeez, I’m not a complete dumbass. Crowley told me.” 

“And you believe him?” 

Nodding, Dean met Vic’s eyes. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Sounds like you have some decisions to make,” Vic said, patting his shoulder and then disappeared through his bedroom door. 

“Hey, this is our little secret,” he yelled out and Vic belted out part of the chorus of  _Dirty Little Secret_  by the All-American Rejects before he closed his door.  _Asshole_. 

He entered his own room and pulled off his tie. He rolled it carefully and placed it in his suitcase. He needed to pack. They’d be flying out in the morning. Another flight over the ocean. Fan- _fucking_ -tastic. 

 

He’d planned on giving up the stupid game. He was ready to go back to treating Dean like usual... like a friend... sort of. This petty feud was ridiculous. Castiel would take the high road. He would tell Dean that Crowley was just a friend and they’d had a couple of drinks...  _that’s all_. 

First thing he did after his alarm went off was to call Hannah’s room. His secretary showed up five minutes later, already immaculately dressed.  

“Hannah, you didn’t have to dress for work. I just needed to give you a task.” 

“I was already awake and since we are flying out this morning...” she stopped, looked at his wrinkled sweats, and squinted up at him. “Are you alright, Mr. Vice President?” 

“I’m fine. I am human, Hannah. Sometimes, I like to be comfortable.” 

“Very well.” She still looked scandalized. “What did you need me to do?” 

“Agent Winchester suffers from Aviophobia. Please find a doctor that will prescribe something for him before our flight.” 

“We are in the UK, Mr. Vice President. Where am I supposed to find a doctor that will prescribe something like that without even seeing the patient?” 

Castiel gave her his most charming smile. “I know you’ll be able to work that out, Hannah. Now, please excuse me so I can order breakfast. I may even take a run this morning.” Dean would stroke out if he suggested running in the streets surrounding the hotel, but the hotel had a gym.  

Once Hannah left, Castiel sent a text to Dean.  

 **Text to Dean/7:03 am - I would like to hit the gym before our flight. Would that be an issue?**  

He dug through his suitcase and found a pair of shorts and another t-shirt. He always packed for running, just in case he found the time. He was tying his laces when there was a knock on the door. He moved to stand, but Dean strode into the suite, his keycard still in his hand. “What is the point of knocking if you are going to barge in?” 

Dean hesitated like he was going to apologize. Castiel waited. This would set the tone for them from this day forward. He found himself holding his breath. 

“What is the point of having a universal key card if I can’t use it? I think there are rules about that, Cas.” Cas grinned. They were good. “And I hope you don’t expect me to exercise.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,  _Agent_.” 

When they stepped into the hall, Harvelle and Henrickson were waiting, all wearing their standard suits. “Good morning, agents. I see that none of you are joining me for some exercise.” The agents grinned and shook their heads. The four of them got into the elevator, all facing forward. No one spoke until it reached the correct floor and the metal doors slid open. “Vic, you and Jo, go ahead and clear the room.” 

Castiel watched the two agents enter the fitness area. He turned to Dean. “While we are alone, I have a confession.” 

Dean nodded, still looking at the point where his team disappeared. “Okay.” 

“I didn’t... Crowley and I are friends. Inviting him to my hotel room was a poor excuse to make you jealous and I apologize for acting childish. Nothing happened.” 

Was Dean trying not to smile? Castiel narrowed his eyes. He’d admitted to acting foolish and Dean was what?  _Amused_. “Crowley informed me that he didn’t even get to first base.” 

Castiel squawked, “What? When did you and he... I cannot believe you would discuss my...” 

Dean’s soft chuckle made him angrier. “For the record, I was a teensy bit jealous.” 

His anger was gone as quickly as it arrived. “You were?” 

Dean held up his thumb and index finger, showing a half inch measurement. “That much.” 

“Assbutt,” he sputtered as the door to the gym opened. 

“Assbutt? Really? That’s all you got?” Dean taunted, his smile gone and he was once again the stoic agent in front of his agents. “Clear?” He asked them. 

“Yes, Sir,” Agent Harvelle said, taking her place at his side. Dean led the way, with Henrickson bringing up the rear.  

Throughout his run on the treadmill, Castiel plotted ways to get back at Dean. He had a call to make... Crowley meddled in his private life and he’d be giving his friend a piece of his mind. Then again, Crowley’s meddling seemed to mend their fences.  

They boarded the Air Force Two a couple hours later and Hannah came forward with a small paper bag. Castiel took it and thanked her before calling Dean to him. The agent was already pale and his eyes flitted around the plane as if he expected it to burst into flames any second. 

Not wanting to call attention to Dean’s fear, Castiel motioned for Dean to follow him back to his private area. “Cas, look, I don’t think I should ride back here again. People will talk,” he whispered, glancing back at his team and Castiel’s staff milling around. Meg was already eying them suspiciously.  

Castiel pushed the bag into Dean’s hands. “Inside is something to help you relax before we take off.” 

Dean shook his head adamantly. “Hell, no.” He shut the door between the two of them and the rest of the passengers. “Jesus Christ, please tell me you didn’t buy drugs from anyone.” 

“Do I look like a fool, Dean? Please tell me when I’d have the chance. I’m under armed guard twenty-four seven.” 

“Armed guard... dramatic much. You act like you’re in prison... And you are kind of powerful. Maybe you got one of your staff to buy drugs.” 

“Would you shut up about buying drugs. This is something to help you relax.  _From a doctor_. Not an eightball of coke.” 

“You called a doctor?” Dean stared down at the bag, now crumpled in his fist. 

“You hate flying and I wanted to make it easier on you.” Castiel was careful not to use the word fear. Dean’s eyes softened and he nibbled at his lip. 

“Thanks, Cas, but I can’t take this.” He must have been curious because he opened the bag and extracted the small vial. It held one pill. He read the label. “Xanax. Shit, this will probably put me out.” 

“And that would be fine,” Castiel said, closing Dean’s fist around the vial. “We will be in a plane, thirty-six thousand feet above anyone that wants to cause me harm. Take the pill, Dean.” 

Castiel watched Dean’s inner war with himself. Then he huffed, “Fine.” Castiel hid his smile and Dean opened the door to the main cabin. Inconspicuously, Dean palmed the pill and picked up a bottle of water from the attendant's cart. He watched him until he was sure Dean took it.  

“Unless you want the world to know you have the hots for your bodyguard, you should practice a more stoic expression.” Castiel inclined his head at Meg’s suggestion. 

“Maybe I want the world to know,” he whispered and he heard her swift intake of breath. 

“You cannot be serious,” she sputtered. “He’s a federal agent. The press would crucify both of you.” 

He faced her. “Why?” 

“He’s... for lack of a better word...  _common_. Mick had money, class, and...” 

“Shut up, Meg.” Castiel could barely contain his fury and it must have showed because she took a step back. “Last time I checked, we didn’t have a class system in the US. I can see whomever I want and you will keep the press at bay. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,  _Sir,_ ” she responded with a curt nod and went to find her seat. 

The plane was airborne and Dean was asleep across the aisle. It gave Castiel time to think. Was he being selfish? Would the press hound Dean? They could be vultures. Had Dean been right? Was their relationship doomed before it could even start? The thought made him both angry and sad.  


	9. Chapter 9

Groggily, Dean shook his head. Where was he? He looked around and his memory returned. He was in Air Force Two and by the feel of the plane, they were descending. "You're awake," Jo said beside him. 

"Time's it?"  His eyes found Cas up front, bent over some paperwork. His secretary, Hannah, hovered next to him.

She looked at her watch. "Eleven-thirty, DC time. You slept the whole flight."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, avoiding the window. He didn't want to see the ground hurtling closer and closer. 

"Hey, no need to apologize. Vic wanted to wake your ass up, but the Angel stopped him."

"Oh... Okay," Dean tried to sound nonchalant. Vic might have figured out his secret, but there was no reason to include the rest of the team.

The landing was smooth and Dean could finally breathe again. He was on terra firma once more. The staff and agents exited the plane fifteen minutes later. Three black Tahoes waited on the tarmac, engines idling. 

Dean was at Cas' left side and opened the vehicle's door for him. As he moved to shut it, Cas looked up innocently. "Agent Winchester, could you ride with me, please. I need to go over something with you." Dean licked his lips nervously and glanced around. Everyone was busy getting into the SUVs. Vic was the only one that had heard Cas' request and though his expression was a mask of indifference, Dean saw the twinkle in his eyes. The bastard was enjoying this.

"Of course, Mr. Vice President," Dean said properly and folded his frame into the backseat next to Cas. The man remained quiet while Dean spoke with his team about the route from Andrews to the house. Once he was finished, he faced Cas. "We shouldn't be calling attention to...  _this_." 

"Ah, so you are admitting there is a  _this,_ " Cas said with a grin.

"I'm not admitting anything," Dean muttered, sinking back into the seat and staring forward.

"Brat."

"Am not." Cas lifted a brow at Dean's less than adult response. "Shut up."

"Dean, I don't think you can tell the Vice President to shut up." Dean gaped at the man. God, he'd just fucked up...  _again_.

"Fuck... I'm sorry, Mr..." Cas' laughter stopped his apology. "You are fucking with me." Cas' shrug and wink infuriated Dean. "You're an asshole. You know that?"

"I've been told that before," Cas said with a soft chuckle. "You should have seen your face though."

"Not funny, Cas. This whole thing is scary enough without you pulling crap like that." Dean was already second guessing himself and the decision to see what might happen. Cas' teasing wasn't helping. What if he made a mistake like that in front of someone?

Cas' smile disappeared and he touched Dean's forearm. "Dean... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Just... hell, Cas, I'm going to need to get used to this."

"So, training wheels then?" Cas asked, his head tilted to the side.

"Training wheels, a helmet, and maybe elbow pads."

"I can give you that," Cas responded and Dean relaxed. "I saw that you have tomorrow and Friday off." If Cas was going for nonchalance, he was failing epically. But Dean wasn't ready for seeing him off duty. Not yet. Fuck the training wheels, Dean was on a fucking tricycle.

"Yeah. I've got a lot of stuff to get done. Sam and Eileen want me to come over and spend some time with Toby."

"What kinds of things does Toby like to do?" Dean wondered where that question came from and then he remembered Cas' own nephew had autism. 

"He loves dogs. Sam got him a Cocker Spaniel last year. Kind of like a therapy dog. She keeps Toby calm when he gets riled up." Before they got the dog, Toby had meltdowns several times a day. Little shit would set him off. Food touching on his plate or his cup being the wrong color. He was much better now.

"Anna has started Jacob at an equestrian therapy center. He seems to love it."

"That's cool. I should ask Sam about it. They might have one around here." The rest of the drive was spent discussing the trials of autistic parents.

After he made sure Cas and his luggage were safely inside the house, Dean nodded and headed for the Shack. He filed his reports via email and checked the roster for the next two days. Vic worked tomorrow and was off for four days after that for some vacation time. Before he left, he popped his head into Charlie's domain. "Honey, I'm home."

She grinned at his botched impression. "Boss man, how was the trip across the pond? Did you see the queen? Have tea and crumpets? See the Tardis?"

"No, no, and no. What the hell is a crumpet anyway?"

At her disappointed face, he decided to give her something. "Saw a prince though."

"Harry or William?"

He gave her the abridged version of the trip and then told her goodbye. His luggage had been brought to the Shack and he loaded it into the trunk of the Impala. He was already calling Sam as he pulled away.

Thursday, he did his laundry and re-stocked his fridge. Friday, he picked up Toby and took him to the Insect Zoo at the Smithsonian. It was usually quiet and Toby would stare at the bugs for hours. The staff were amazing and let him hold some huge green thing. Dean stood back and declined when the woman held it out to him.  _Nope_. Dean didn't do creepy crawly things.

When Saturday rolled around, Dean was ready to get back to work. That's what he told himself... it was  _not_  because he wanted to see Cas again. 

They did a quick run and then Cas invited him in for breakfast. With Benny there, Dean kept their conversation light but professional. Dean was watching Cas sip his coffee when the other man’s cell phone rang. He grimaced and stood. "Let me take this." He walked away, leaving Dean and Benny alone.

"You get the boss anything for his birthday?" Benny asked, taking Cas' empty plate from the table.  _Birthday_? Dean's mind went into overdrive. He read the man's bio...  _shit_. His birthday was tomorrow. The twentieth of August. Why didn't he remember that?

Castiel woke late. He'd told Dean that he was taking the morning off from running and was just going to hang around the house. With his parents in Chicago and Anna out in California, he planned on spending his birthday with a good book. He might even swim a few laps in the pool. Benny wasn't coming in until lunch, so he was kind of excited at the thought of being lazy.

By the time lunch rolled around, Castiel was bored out of his skull. He'd read for a while, but the book couldn't keep his attention. Then he played the piano, but the passion wasn't there today. He'd even fucked himself with one of Anna's 'gifts'. That was the highlight of his morning. His imagination was good and when he closed his eyes, it was Dean on top of him... in him...

"Happy birthday, Boss." It touched him that Benny remembered. His family had called him earlier and Jacob had even sung to him, but he didn't have many friends.  

"Thank you, Benny. That means a lot."

"I took out two steaks and I'm preparing some twice-baked potatoes for you to heat up." Benny was mixing something up in a bowl and Castiel leaned over his shoulder. 

"What's that?" Before Benny could answer, his previous comment registered. "Why two steaks?"

"This is pie crust," he said, turning it out onto the floured countertop. 

"Pie? What kind?" Castiel noted that Benny hadn't answered the other question, but he'd let him slide for now. 

"It will be cherry. I picked some up at the market on my way in." Benny opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden rolling pin. Castiel stood silently and watched the man flatten the dough for a few minutes. He waited until Benny carefully placed it in a pie tin before speaking again.

"Why two steaks?”

"I've been sworn to secrecy," Benny said with a salty grin. "Just relax and enjoy your birthday. I'll be leaving as soon as the pie is out of the oven."

Secrecy? Who would be visiting him? "Benny, as your employer..."

"Don't even go there, brotha', I know you won't get rid of me. Your mama would snatch me up in a heartbeat."

"I hate you," Castiel said, sulking. "At least, tell me if it is someone I even like." He didn't have any business dinners scheduled for the evening and nothing was on his calendar.

"You will have an enjoyable evening," Benny said, feigning nonchalance. Knowing he wouldn't be getting any more information out of his chef, he stomped out of the room. He swore he heard Benny chuckling.  _Bastard_.

He was in the middle of an episode of  _Forged in Fire_  on the History Channel when Benny appeared at the door to the den. "Pie's done and I'm going home to my wife."

"When is this surprise guest supposed to arrive?" He asked, pausing the show. It wasn't that he was really interested in it, but he was no quitter.

"Five-ish. I'd suggest you change." Castiel looked down at his clothes. The jeans had seen their better days with a ragged hem and the start of a hole in one of the knees. The t-shirt was left over from his college days, with a suspicious stain over his stomach.

With Benny gone, Castiel jogged up the stairs to take a quick shower. When he was dressed in somewhat better jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, he walked to the window. From his vantage point, he could make out the building that housed his secret service agents. He spotted Dean's Impala. He hadn't seen him all day. It was oddly disconcerting how much he missed Dean. He glanced at the alarm clock by his bed. It was almost five. 

In the kitchen, he saw the pie sitting on the island, its lattice crust a picture of perfection. There was a note next to it. 

Curious, Castiel poked his head into the formal dining room. The table was set. A bottle of merlot was resting next to one of the plates. Not the good china that came with the house, but the more casual ones that they used most nights. Two silver candlesticks were centered between the place settings. A lighter was next to them. This was beginning to look like a date. 

Frowning, Castiel went back into the kitchen. He hated surprises. Surely, if his mom was in town, he would have gotten wind of it. She hadn't mentioned it when she'd called to wish him a happy birthday. If his staff planned a party there would have been more food and the table wouldn't be set for what looked like a romantic dinner.

The loud knock at the front door broke him out of his thoughts. He opened it and found Dean standing there. "Dean. What..."

"Happy birthday, Cas." He held up a plastic bag and a DVD case. "You obviously can't come over for beer and football, so the beer and football came to you."

"Did Benny... I'm..." He stared past Dean and took in the two agents on the lawn, both looking away from them, hands clasped behind their backs. The Impala was parked on the driveway. "Confused."

"Surprise," Dean said, grinning from ear to ear. "You gonna let me in? The beer is getting warm."

"Of course, I'm... I apologize." Castiel stepped out of the way and watched in silent amazement as Dean, dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans and a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, strode purposefully toward the kitchen. After a moment, he followed. 

"Uhm, pie. Benny did good, huh?" He questioned, but didn't allow Castiel to respond. "I just have to start the grill. It's gas... I can't believe a Cajun would stoop low enough to cook on gas, but that's an argument for another time. Why don't you start the potatoes? Benny said he was leaving instructions. Here, put the beer in the fridge." He set the bag down with a clunk and let himself out the back door. Castiel stared after him. He was acting nervous. Dean never talked that much or that fast.

Doing as he was told, he put the beer in the refrigerator and then picked up the DVD Dean left on the counter.  _Super Bowl XXX_. They really were going to watch football.

Castiel started the oven and took the steaks and the potatoes out of the fridge. He stood idly for a few seconds wondering what to do next. Was he supposed to go outside? Making a decision, he took two of the beers and stepped onto the patio. The pool glistened in the sunlight. Dean was standing with his back to Castiel, his body seemed tense. The grill lid was open and gas-fed flames shot up through the grate. He must have sensed Castiel's presence because he turned around. "Heya, Cas." Yes, he was definitely nervous.

"When did you plan all this?"

"Yesterday. Benny helped." He shifted from one foot to the next. "Hope you don't mind. I just thought we'd try this whole friends thing..."

"Dean, I'm amazed that you would go through so much trouble for me. Thank you."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome," Dean mumbled, looking away. "Didn't want you to spend your birthday by yourself."

"My boring evening at home just got better," Castiel assured him, hoping he would relax. He held out the beer and Dean took it, twisting the cap off quickly. Castiel did the same and held out his bottle. "To friends."

"Friends." Dean clicked his bottle against Castiel's. "Let's get this show on the road, huh? I'll do the steaks and you are in charge of the spuds." Dean led him back into the kitchen where he picked up the plastic bag holding the marinating meat. "How do you like yours?"

"Rare."

"Good man," Dean grinned and was gone again. Castiel busied himself putting the potatoes into the oven and setting the timer. The beer was from a local microbrewery and tasted good. He wondered when Dean had time for all this? He'd worked all day. Not that Castiel was keeping up with his schedule... but he did like to look outside on occasion, and the Impala was always parked in its slot.

To give himself something to do, he lit the candles and flipped the switch so the chandelier went dark. Would Dean think this was too romantic for two guys... Friends... having dinner? Or was it his idea? Or was Benny playing matchmaker? 

"Why is this so fucking complicated?" He blew out the candles and turned the lights back on. He quickly picked up the candlesticks and put them on the sideboard. 

Back in the kitchen, he paced. The potatoes were bubbling nicely in the oven and he was slipping the potholders onto his hands when the back door opened. "Steaks are up. How're the spuds?"

"Coming out now," Castiel answered. He set them on the stove and Dean whistled. 

"Damn, those look awesome. Benny deserves a raise, man." 

It took a few minutes for them to get the food into the dining room and the wine poured. Dean was a good sport about the wine, even though Castiel knew he'd rather have another beer. Dean seemed to relax once they were seated and eating. The steaks were good and he complimented Dean on them. He said it was all in Benny's marinade, but Castiel knew he was pleased.

They both cleaned up because Dean was afraid Benny would hurt him if he came into a dirty kitchen in the morning. When he was satisfied, he picked up the DVD. "Super Bowl. Nineteen-Ninety-Six. Cowboys versus the Steelers."

"Who won?" 

Dean's expression was hysterical. "Who won? Dude. I don't think we can be friends, man." He made a show out of putting the DVD back into its case.

The night had been a success... well, it was after Dean calmed down. He was so freakin' nervous that he'd developed diarrhea of the mouth and Cas kept looking at him funny. He'd chilled while he grilled their steaks and told himself that this was what Cas wanted. 

Cas joked all through the game and pretended he didn't know shit about football. Then the asshat told stories about meeting this year's Super Bowl champs at the White House. He was going to pray hard that the Cowboys make it to the next one, then he'd be beside Cas at the party. How awesome would that be?

With the game over, Dean stood and picked up the beer bottles on the coffee table. They'd had a slice of pie during the half time show. Diana Ross belted out a medley of her greatest hits while Dean moaned around his fork. Benny could really fuckin' cook.

It was only eight-thirty, but both of them had to get up early so Cas could run. Dean was secretly praying for rain. "Guess I should hit the road. You need your beauty sleep."

Cas looked disappointed. "I thought we might go for a swim."

"I didn't bring a suit." He hadn't expected to be asked to play in the pool.

"I have extras. You're about my size." Cas motioned for him to follow him up the stairs. He hadn't been on the second floor since his initial tour. He trailed behind Cas watching his tight ass as he led him to his bedroom. His eyes shifted right to the bed. It was unmade. Guess the housekeeper didn't come in on Sundays. There was a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand. God damn... Cas in glasses... in bed. Sure, he'd seen the man wear glasses before while he was working, but here...  _in the fucking bed_. "Dean... Dean?"

Dean started and realized Cas was holding out a pair of trunks. "Sorry. Mind still on football, I guess." And didn't that sound lame?

Cas gave him a quizzical look, but said, "You can change in the guest bath."

Dean took the shorts and with much more decorum than he felt, left to change.

The suit was dark blue and snug. How did Cas fit that fine ass in these, Dean thought as he eyeballed his butt in the mirror. He shifted his junk around until he was satisfied and met Cas in the hall. He was self-conscious. He exercised because he had to, not because he wanted to, and it showed. He was soft around his midsection and his muscles weren't nearly as well defined as Cas'. He needed to do more sit-ups... starting Monday.

They didn't talk until they were by the pool. "I let the night shift know we were swimming." Dean winced and Cas caught it. "Was that a mistake?"

"Nah, it's just... I could kind of explain away the dinner as talk about schedules and shit. Swimming with the VP really isn't..." Dean watched the mask fall down on Cas' face.  _Shit_. "Look, this isn't one of those  _no homo_  things. I might not wave a rainbow flag, but I'm not ashamed of who I am either. It's just that we're..."

"You don't want people to think there's something between us," Cas said softly, not meeting Dean's eyes. "I understand, Dean." Only he didn't. Dean could read him like a book. Cas was hurt and it was all Dean's fault. He'd tried so hard to make tonight fun for Cas, but as usual, he'd fucked up.

"Cas..." He didn't know what to say and it didn't matter because Cas did a perfect dive into the pool. Dean lowered himself to the edge and sat with his legs dangling in the cool water. He watched him cut through the water effortlessly. When he finally stopped, he stared at Dean.

"Aren't you getting in?"

"Yeah. Sure." Dean slipped into the water. It came up to his nipples and they immediately hardened. Cas' eyes cut down to them and back up again. Dean couldn't read his expression this time. "Water's nice."

"It is. This is one of my favorite perks to being the Vice President." 

Dean smiled, wanting to lighten Cas' mood. "What are some of your other favorite perks?"

Cas moved to deeper water and Dean followed, both treading water lazily. Cas talked about some of the more fun things that came with his job and Dean listened intently, not realizing he wore a soft smile the entire time. It was only after Cas' leg accidently met his that Dean grew nervous again. He set out toward the edge. "Damn, I'm looking like a prune. I really do need to get home." That drive was going to kill him. At this rate, it would be midnight before he was in bed.

He pulled himself up and reached for one of the towels Cas brought down. He was facing the pool as he dried his arms and it seemed like slow motion as Cas hauled himself up on those strong arms. Even in the darkness, Dean could see the water run in rivulets down his body. This had to stop.

Cas, all too casually, moved close to him, reaching around for a towel. His arms brushed against Dean's ribs and fuck, if he didn't do that on purpose. "We should get changed," Cas said softly and led them into the house and up the stairs. The thought of Cas taking off that wet suit behind his closed door drove Dean crazy. After dressing, he didn't wait for Cas. He rushed downstairs and into the kitchen. They'd finished the six pack. Did Cas have any of the good stuff? He had opened and shut several cabinets when Cas entered the room. "What are you looking for?"

"I just wanted a drink." Dean bit his lip and opened the pantry door.

"I'm sure Benny keeps several soft drinks and bottles of water in the fridge," Cas said, already moving toward the huge appliance. Dean turned and gave him a  _duh_ look.

"Something stronger than Coke, Cas."

"Ah, I see." He walked across the kitchen and opened a built-in hutch. Dean could see several bottles of booze inside. He watched as Cas took one down.

Cas set the bottle of expensive Scotch on the table. Dean eyed it apprehensively. "If you have a drink, you won't be going home tonight. The choice is yours."  _Wait... what_? "You can't drink and drive. I won't allow it." 

Dean met Cas' eyes and held them. The blue was darker than usual. Filled with what? Lust? Maybe. That's what Dean was feeling. If he called Cas' bluff and had the drink, he'd stay and they'd wind up in bed together. 

Cas was the first to look away. He plucked two small, glass tumblers from a cabinet and put them next to the bottle. 

Slowly, Dean reached for the Scotch, dragging it slowly toward him. He let his teeth rake over his bottom lip. This was a mistake. He twisted the cap off and the bottle made a clunking sound when it hit the edge of the first glass. He poured two fingers of the amber liquid and then did the same in the other one.

He took his time putting the cap back on and then with his left hand, he pushed one of the glasses over to Cas. With his right, he picked up his own. "Guess I'm staying."

Cas nodded, took the glass, and shot back the Scotch. Dean watched him wince as it burned his throat. Dean stood, still holding his. Before he could lose his nerve, he circled the table and entered Cas' personal space. They were chest to chest and Dean could smell the alcohol on Cas' breath. He wanted a taste. "Kiss me," he whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex is coming up soon. I know y'all are frustrated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex happens.

When Castiel laid down the challenge, he expected Dean to leave. He sure as hell didn't expect him to be the one to make the first move.

"Kiss me," Dean whispered. His body was so close, Castiel could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He swallowed and reached up to cup Dean's jaw. Silently, he asked permission, needing to know if Dean really wanted this. The answer was in his eyes – eyes he could drown in.

Dean's breath was sweet from the cherry pie they'd shared earlier. He touched his lips to Dean's softly, but Dean wasn't having anything gentle. No, he sucked Castiel's tongue into his mouth and he felt the soft scrape of teeth, as Dean swallowed his moan. The kiss was carnal and wicked. Castiel was only aware of the intensity... the want behind it. His hands hung limply at his side as if afraid to touch. He relished the feel of Dean's rough, unshaven face. 

Castiel's tongue explored Dean's mouth and by the sounds he was making, Dean was enjoying the kiss as much as he was. He only broke the kiss to breathe, but only pulled back a mere inch, as if separating from Dean would break him. And maybe it would...

Green eyes met his and they shared the same air. Now that his brain was working again, he felt Dean's hands on his waist. His own rose as if on their own accord to mimic Dean's. "Are we really going to do this?" 

"Only if you want..." Castiel started, but Dean's mouth was on his again. His hands gathered fistfuls of Castiel's shirt and hauled him even closer.  This kiss was almost brutal. Castiel was the one who opened this time, allowing Dean to take what he wanted. 

Blood raced to his cock, filling it, and leaving him light-headed. Then Dean's hands were under his shirt, blunt nails scratching at his skin. He moaned as a wave of pleasurable pain washed over him. Dean made an animalistic sound and pushed him backward. The counter dug into his hips. Dean stared, breathing harsh in the silence of the kitchen. "God damn, I want..." He swallowed and let his eyes drag up and down Castiel's body. He took Castiel's hand and brought it to his crotch and Castiel closed his eyes at the feel of Dean's hard cock straining against the fly of his jeans. He rubbed his palm up and down the length, enjoying the way Dean thrust against him. 

"You want... what?" Castiel managed to say, though his mind was once again hazy with a combination of lust and physical need. Dean groaned and once again thrust his tongue into Castiel's willing mouth. Then he retreated, only to take Castiel's bottom lip between his teeth and bite down. Castiel gasped and let his head fall back. 

Like a wild beast bested by one stronger, he bared his neck and Dean's lips followed the strong cords of his throat down to his collar bone. "Want you. All of you. Every. Last. Inch." The words, whispered against his skin sent shivers up Castiel's spine. As if to emphasize his point, he pushed his denim clad cock into Castiel's hand again and again.

Could Dean hear his heart thudding against his ribcage? Could he feel his pulse racing under his skin? "Dean..." It was all he could say. He felt Dean take his wrist and pry it away from his hard cock. Castiel whimpered and he heard Dean's soft laugh.

"Upstairs... I don't want to defile Benny's kitchen any more than we already have." Castiel blinked at him and then his words made sense. He nodded and straightened at the same time Dean stepped back. Castiel took in the agent's appearance. His face was ruddy where Castiel's whiskers had left their mark. His lips were slightly swollen from their kisses. He looked beautiful.

Taking his hand, Castiel led him out of the kitchen, across the house and up the stairs. Dean followed docilely. He allowed himself to wonder how docile he'd be in his bed.

They reached his bedroom and he paused at the doorway. Dean’s thumb moved over his knuckles and Castiel smiled before leaning in for another kiss. Dean wrapped his arms around him and this time the kiss was sweeter, softer, but it still took Castiel’s breath away. 

Dean began backing him toward his bed. He felt the mattress on the back of his knees and planted his feet, stopping their momentum. “I think I need to unwrap my birthday present,” he murmured, hands reaching for the hem of Dean’s shirt. Dean hummed his approval and lifted his arms. Once it was up and over Dean’s head, Castiel tossed it aside and drank his fill of Dean’s chest. His imperfection only made him more beautiful in Castiel’s eyes. He’d long ago discarded the desire for six pack abs and a chiseled chest. Dean was a real man.

“My turn,” Dean said, reaching for his top button.

With a playful pout, Castiel said, “But it isn’t your birthday.” 

Dean continued his quest to get Castiel’s shirt unbuttoned. “No, but we all learned to share in kindergarten, Cas. Don’t be stingy.”

He parted the edges of Castiel’s shirt and let his thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples. For the first time in ages, Castiel wanted the foreplay to last forever. Dark thoughts eroded into his brain. Once they’d had sex, would Dean leave him like Mick? 

“Hey, no frowning on your birthday.” Dean was looking at him, concern in his eyes, hands still holding fisted in the material of his shirt. “We can stop…”

“God, no. Please, no,” Castiel said emphatically. “I just… I don’t want you to regret this.”

Dean sighed and kissed him softly, a chaste peck on the lips. “No one can predict the future, Cas. Will I wake up tomorrow scared shitless? Yeah, probably.” He shrugged. “But I don’t want to fight this anymore.” Then he laughed, stepping away. “God, I sound like a REO Speedwagon song. Please forget I said that.”

“My lips are sealed,” Castiel said, reaching for him. He adored the blush covering Dean’s cheeks. He let his fingers slip into the waistband of Dean’s jeans to tug him close again. He inhaled his scent. It was a mixture of chlorine from the pool, the residual aroma of his aftershave, and something that was the essence of Dean himself. He moved his nose down Dean’s throat, breathing him in. Lower…he flicked his tongue over Dean’s nipples and loving the soft, hitched exhale from his lips. 

Dean’s hand cupped his head, fingers dragging through Castiel’s still damp hair. “Cas.” It was said with a hiss and he could hear the veiled frustration in his voice. It was hard to concentrate, but Castiel persuaded his hands to unsnap Dean’s jeans while his mouth continued its exploration of the man’s sensitive nipples.

His knuckles brushed against Dean’s belly as he worked the snap open and the zipper down. Without removing his lips from Dean’s skin, he slipped his hand inside the snug briefs to cup his shaft. It was hard and velvety smooth. Dean bucked and then put his palms on Castiel’s shoulders for balance. 

Using his teeth, Castiel clamped onto Dean’s left nipple and looked up through his lashes. Dean’s expression was euphoric. It was nice to know he enjoyed small amounts of pain. He tucked that fact away to study later.

Feeling his own cock throbbing in his jeans, he practically shoved Dean’s down his thighs. “Shoes,” he growled and straightened, fists clenched at his side. 

Dean released him and toed off his boots, then his socks. He kicked his jeans aside and then slowly… ever so slowly… lowered his boxer briefs down his thighs… his calves, and then they were gone. He couldn’t help but stare. Dean’s cock stood out from his body, his balls heavy and nestled in a thick bush of dark hair.

Without taking his eyes off him, Castiel unbuttoned his own jeans and pushed them and his boxers down and off. “Damn,” whispered Dean, his gaze on Castiel’s own thick shaft. He took one step forward and flicked Castiel’s shirt off his shoulders, finally finishing what he started.

“May I,” Castiel asked, his hand held out in front of Dean’s cock.

“As you said, it’s your birthday present.” That was all the incentive he needed. His hands cupped Dean’s balls and held them reverently. With the fingertip of his other, he trailed it from the base to the tip, slick with precum. He brought it to his mouth and tasted Dean for the first time. A soft growl came from deep inside Dean and suddenly, he was on the bed, flat on his back. Dean was straddling his hips, their erections dangerously close together. His mouth came down hard on Castiel’s and Dean’s hands moved slowly over Castiel’s ribs. He couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. Dean froze and lifted his head, peering down at Castiel. 

“Tickles.” The corner of Dean’s mouth came up on a smirk. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hey, no, man.” He raised his hands. Then he winked. “Not now anyway.” His hands, thankfully, left Castiel’s ticklish ribs and drifted up his arms until he got to his hands. Interlocking their fingers, he pressed them into the mattress. 

Knowing it was expected, Castiel put up a token fight, but his heart wasn’t in it. He strained against Dean’s strong hands, but huffed and relaxed. Dean smiled and gave him another gentle kiss. He let go of Castiel and moved down his body, leaving a trail of searing kisses. When he was settled between Castiel’s spread thighs, he lowered his head and licked the head of his cock. It was the beginning of the best blowjob Castiel had ever had. Dean worshiped his cock. It could have lasted minutes or hours, Castiel could not have said. All he could do was watch and feel. 

Dean kept him on the edge. Teasing him with a scrape of teeth before sucking him inside his hot mouth. He was a master. An artist. He took Castiel down his throat and hummed a senseless tune, the vibration traveling to his inner core and igniting the heat in his belly. God, he was so close to coming. “Dean…” He knew his voice sounded broken and he didn’t care. 

Dean raised his head, letting Castiel’s cock come to rest on his stomach, angry red and slick with Dean’s spit. “Not yet, Sweetheart.”

Castiel could only groan and clutch at the sheets. Dean planted a kiss on the head of his cock and then looked from one nightstand to the other. “Where?”

He lifted his right hand and pointed. Was Dean going to fuck him now? God, he hoped so. While Dean crawled over to grab the supplies, Castiel watched his cock. Hard and slick with his arousal. He needed it inside of him. His hips thrust upward, seeking friction. The air seemed thick with the smell of sex and sweat.

Dean sat back on his haunches and held up one of the bottles of lubricant that Anna sent him. “ID Millennium. Long lasting. Good to know.”

“Dean.” There was a distinctive edge to Castiel’s tone. He didn’t need an infomercial. Ignoring him, Dean tore off the protective seal and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. Castiel lifted his hips, beyond ready, at the same time Dean reached behind his back. Both froze. “I thought…”

“Oh, you…” 

"Either," Castiel whispered.

"Me too," Dean said, trying to hide his emotions. He'd been trying to keep them hidden all night, but there was something about Cas that was just so damn easy. "Maybe next time..." He let the sentence trail off. Would there even be a next time?

"Definitely next time." Dean felt a weight lift and pushed his finger inside his tight channel. He knew what his body could handle. Hell, he always bottomed for Art, so it didn't take long to get to the point where he knew he wouldn't do any damage. At first, Cas' keen eyes watching embarrassed him, but the way he kept licking his lips like he wanted to eat Dean alive gave him confidence. He pulled out and reached for the condom he'd set aside earlier. With another squeeze of lube, he slicked Cas' cock before rolling it on, and then he added more of the thick gel. 

Cas' groan of pleasure at his touch made Dean smile. He had no idea how long the foreplay had lasted. Longer than he'd ever had, that was for sure. Usually, the buildup was just a means to an end, but with Cas, each touch... each taste... was new and he wanted to take his time to find out what really turned Cas on. 

He rubbed his slick hand over his thigh to get most of the lube off and then settled over Cas' hips again. Before he could lift up to take Cas inside, the man reached up and wrapped his hand around Dean's neck, forcing him down. The kiss was unhurried, like they had a fucking lifetime. Dean wanted to stop him... wanted to stop drowning... but he couldn't. He couldn't because Cas felt so good under him.

Dean moaned softly and lifted his head a few inches, just enough to look at Cas. His eyes were half closed, seemingly lost in the moment. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be about sex. In Dean's mind, they'd scratch an itch and then go back to being pseudo-friends. Damn Crowley for making him want things.

"Fuck me, Cas," he said, raising up to guide Cas' cock into him. He sank down, feeling every last inch as his body stretched and burned to accommodate the intrusion. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. The sensations were overwhelming. _This was real_.

Cas' hands began to caress his thighs, up and down in a soothing manner. Dean lifted his hips, feeling the slide of Cas' cock leaving his body and then he came back down. His hands were splayed across Cas' chest to give him balance. Cas was watching him intently, letting him set the pace. Dean rocked forward, loving the sense of fullness. Then back...there... right there. He gasped. "Yes."

Fingers tightened on his legs and Cas arched his back, driving himself deeper still. "God..." Dean cried out, rolling his hips faster. They got into a steady rhythm, both grunting and moaning with each thrust. Any pain or pressure was long gone and Cas was nailing his prostate every time now. Strangely enough, they'd kept eye contact the whole time. It should have made Dean uneasy, but try as he might, he couldn't look away.

He needed stimulation to bring him over the edge and took his cock into his fist. He couldn't stop the whine as Cas wrapped his palm around Dean's hand. "Cas... gonna come," he managed to pant out, and then he saw stars. The molten heat in his belly took his breath away. Cas guided him through his orgasm and the aftershocks.

"So beautiful... perfect..." Cas' words sounded like they were coming from miles away. Suddenly, Dean was on his back and Cas was over him, fucking him relentlessly. Dean dragged his blunt nails over Cas' back, urging him on.

Dean felt Cas' arms shaking, and then he stilled. He could feel the throb of Cas' cock as he emptied inside of Dean. Dean stared up at Cas, his face euphoric. Mouth open in a silent scream, eyes closed tightly, and skin flushed with both exertion and spent passion. He waited, his palms moving softly over Cas' chest. He felt his heart beating erratically. 

When Cas finally opened his eyes, he licked his lips, and leaned in for a gentle kiss. "Thank you, Dean."

"Dude, don't thank me for sex. That's..." That's what? Too intimate? Too freakin' real. "dumb." Okay, not his brightest response... like  _ever_. 

The muscle at Cas' jaw ticked minutely and he pulled out of Dean, making him wince involuntarily. "Sorry, I thought thanking someone for a birthday gift was acceptable." 

Cas stood and rid himself of the condom, then retreated to the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door with a resounding click. Dean knew he should get up and dress. He glanced over at the LED lit numbers of Cas' alarm clock. _Fuck_. It was well after midnight. He was due at work in five hours. His apartment was almost an hour away. He'd be sleeping at the Shack tonight.

He heard the flush of a toilet and groaned. He'd upset Cas and knew he should apologize. "This was a bad idea," he muttered. It was already complicated enough and then they had to fucking sleep together. He sat up and rolled his legs off the bed just as the bathroom door opened. He was wearing a dark blue bathrobe, opened enough to reveal his chest. Dean looked away. "I should get out of here. My boss thinks it's great to run at the buttcrack of dawn." He went for levity as he always did when he was faced with feelings.

"Your  _boss_  would excuse you," Cas said softly. Dean still couldn't look at him. Why'd he have to be such an idiot? He stood and grabbed his jeans. He looked around wildly for his underwear and not wanting to risk more uncomfortable conversation, he pulled on his pants without them. Grabbing his socks and boots from the floor, he sat back down on the bed and pulled them on. He was aware Cas was watching him and the silence was heavy.

Dean yanked his t-shirt over his head and finally looked at Cas. "So..."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Out of everything Cas could have come up with to say, Dean hadn't expected that. All the tension seeped out of him.

"Don't." He manned up and walked across to where Cas was standing. "Cas. I'm the one that should apologize." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm... this..." He pointed vaguely toward the bed. "Maybe we shouldn't have..."

"Do you regret it?" The words hung in the air like fetid smoke. 

"No," Dean said honestly. Because he really didn't. He might regret the aftermath, but sex with Cas had been pretty fucking awesome.

"I don't regret a moment. And no matter what happens between us, I will never betray you, Dean." 

"I never thought you would," Dean said, meaning it. Dean was glad they cleared the air, but he'd had about enough chick flick moments to last into the next century. "I should go."

"I'll walk you out." Dean knew better than to argue and together, they trooped down the stairs. He opened the front door and almost kissed Cas goodnight, but the presence of two of the night shift agents in the driveway stopped him. "Drive safe, Dean."

"See you in a few." Dean marched out to his car, head high, almost daring any of the agents to comment about the late hour. He'd prepared a story to cover his visit. They were going over travel plans for the Labor Day weekend and Cas needed some company for his birthday.  _No biggie_. 

The Shack was quiet and he managed to get to the small sleeping area without seeing anyone. He quickly stripped, pulled on a pair of running shorts, and crawled into one of the lower bunks. The sheets smelled of bleach and were not nearly as soft as Cas'.  _Cas_. Dean smiled in the darkness. It had been some epic sex. He was the best kisser... he'd made Dean feel special... like he was worth something... 

He drifted off with Cas on his mind.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

To say Castiel was exhausted would be an understatement of monumental proportions. Dean left and he could not sleep. The evening was good. So good. More than he’d ever dreamed. Then he watched the high, impenetrable walls come up around Dean. 

He entered the kitchen following the heady aroma of coffee. Benny was humming softly, but stopped when he saw Castiel. “Morning. Hope you had a great birthday. Your man is a keeper because I know you didn’t clean my kitchen.” His face went from smiling to concern. “What did he do?” 

Castiel wanted to laugh, but he shook his head and reached for a coffee cup. “You just said he was a keeper. Maybe it was me that did something.” 

Benny stopped prepping breakfast and crossed his arms. “What happened? Dean had it all planned.” 

“With your assistance,” Castiel added. 

“With my assistance,” Benny confirmed. “Talk to me.” No one else on his staff, save Meg and Balthazar would dare to pry into his personal life, but Benny was more than an employee. 

“Dean gave me a perfect birthday and... and then the walls came up.” 

His chef took up his whisk and began to beat the eggs into submission. “I thought he was finally... well, shows what I know.” 

“I’ll recover.” Castiel took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I don’t think I will run today. I am acting on zero sleep. Pray that nothing bad happens in the world today.” He topped off his mug and headed back upstairs. In his room, he sent a text to Dean telling him the plans changed and he’d still expect him for their breakfast meeting. 

Castiel was the Vice President. He’s smiled for the camera while shaking hands with some of the worst people he’d known. Being professional around Dean would be hard, but he was up to the task.  

As he picked up a pillow that somehow made it to the floor, he spotted Dean’s underwear. He shoved them into the nightstand. If he put it in the laundry, the housekeeping staff would wash and fold, then they would be placed in his dresser. He  _could_  return them once they were clean. He shut the drawer. 

Without his morning run, Castiel showered, shaved, and dressed, then he gathered his things for the office. It would be a long day. 

At breakfast, Dean was polite and Castiel knew he was trying to act normal. He didn’t finish his food, which was unusual, but then again, Castiel wasn’t overly hungry himself. It set the tone for the rest of the week. They ran together, ate breakfast together, and rode in the same vehicle to Castiel’s office. By Friday, Castiel was stressed from acting like he was okay. His staff was avoiding him like the plague and Dean... well, Dean, was faking it. Castiel knew him well enough to see he was acting as much as Castiel was. 

Dean was off on Thursday and Friday. Castiel spent the entire time wondering what Dean did on his days off. Saturday morning, he was ready to see him again. While seeing and not being able to touch was driving him mad, not seeing him was worse. 

“I think I’m skipping breakfast today,” Dean said, coming into the kitchen. He gave Benny a look Castiel couldn’t decipher.  

“Are you sick?” Castiel looked Dean over quickly to see if he was ill. 

“No, just grabbed something on my way this morning.” Dean did grab his usual cup of coffee though. Benny kept his back to the room until it was time to serve Castiel his poached eggs over toast. There had been a tension between the two men since the morning after his birthday. He knew Benny was disappointed in Dean despite Castiel defending him.  

That became Dean’s new routine. No breakfast, just coffee. It was strange not to see Dean sitting across from him. Castiel was trying to get used to their new dynamic though. He’d even dialed up Mick one evening. It was nice to hear his voice and without mentioning names or job titles, he told his ex that he’d met someone, but they, like Mick, couldn’t handle his job. Mick, always knowing the right thing to say, said that the right one would come along because Castiel deserved it. He didn’t ask if Mick was seeing someone.  

Midweek, Castiel called Dean into his office for a meeting. He’d gathered his staff to discuss his upcoming vacation. Meg, Balthazar, Kevin, Garth, and Tim were all seated by the time Dean opened the door. He looked around at those gathered and gave Castiel a questioning look. “You needed me, Sir?” 

“Yes, Dean, please come in and take a seat.” Meg smirked and scooted over on the couch, but Dean avoided her and sat between his intern and Garth, his director of communications. Castiel stood up and came around his desk, hiking his hip against it before starting. “As you all know, I’m taking a short vacation to visit my family in Chicago. As of now, the media has not been informed and there have been no leaks. Is that correct, Meg?” 

“That’s right. Did you want to leak something after the fact?" 

“We can announce it after I get back to DC,” Castiel told her and then addressed the room again. “Because no one knows and my parents’ home is secure, I am travelling without my staff except for a small security detail.” 

“Not happening,” Dean exclaimed. “You  _will_ travel with a full detail, Mr. Vice President.” Beside him, Garth mumbled something about manners, but Castiel ignored him and refused to call Dean on his insubordination. 

“Thank you for your concern, Dean, but I have already thought this through. I will fly in a Marine helicopter to a private landing area near my parents’ home. You can arrange for my transportation when I get there. I would like you to choose three of your best agents to accompany me. There will be no public appearances and as I’ve said, the Novak estate is secure.” Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Castiel knew he wouldn’t drop it and expected Dean to corner him later. He hated to pull rank, but he wasn’t having his trip turned into a circus. He wondered if Dean would be on the roster traveling with him. 

That night, he finished his solitary meal and since he was feeling melancholy, he sat down at the piano. Instead of allowing the music to flow through his fingertips, he used one. Tink. Tink. Tink. 

“I thought you played,” Dean’s voice from behind made him start. He spun around. He’d thought Dean’s shift ended a couple of hours earlier. 

“You have taken to breaking and entering well. A life of crime could be in your future.” 

“Keys. Remember?” Dean said, coming closer. “We need to talk.” 

“I’m assuming you wish to discuss my upcoming trip,” Castiel said, turning back to the keys. He had no hope that Dean wanted to discuss their relationship, or lack thereof. 

“Cas, you can’t just hop on a plane and take a vacation like normal people. You need your full detail. I can guarantee they will be unobtrusive as possible.” 

“No.” Castiel flipped through his sheet music and saw something that fit his mood.  

“No? Cas, you’re being unreasonable.” Castiel was done with the discussion and like a spoiled child who put their hands over their ears, he began to play Chris Isaak's  _Wicked Game_. “Damn it, Cas.” He kept playing until he heard the front door slam shut. He softly sang an apt line from the song. “And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.” 

 

When he got the text that Cas wouldn’t be running, he was ecstatic. Or as ecstatic he could be with a couple hours of poor sleep. He gave himself a pep talk as he walked to the back of the house for their morning meeting. Benny was slamming pans around and Cas was sipping his coffee at the breakfast bar. 

Dean set his tablet on the bar and sat across from Cas. “I got your schedule pulled up. Any changes I need to know about?” He looked like he hadn’t slept. There were dark circles under his eyes and his movements were slow. They talked quietly about his itinerary and then Benny placed plates in front of them.  

Breakfast cooked by Benny was the highlight of his day. He picked up his fork and dug in. He’d gotten two bites in when his taste buds caught up with his brain. What was that? His third forkful stopped its trajectory. He looked at Cas. His meal looked identical and Cas was calmly eating his while going over Dean’s notes.  

He dropped the forkful of eggs onto his plate and moved to the sausage patty. As soon as it touched his tongue he almost gagged. Dean looked at Benny, who was busy putting things away and loading the dishwasher. The motherfucker was whistling. Abruptly, he got up and scrapped the salt laden meal the trash can. Coffee couldn’t get the dry feeling out of his mouth and he pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and chugged it down. Dean guessed Cas told Benny about the shitty ending to a perfect evening.  

Thankfully, he only had three days to act like nothing was wrong before his days off. The first night, he met Art at their favorite bar. His ex was already there when Dean arrived. He slapped him on the back as he sat down. “How’s it hanging?” 

“Good. And you?” Dean picked up the beer Art had ordered for him. The man really knew him. Too bad it didn’t work out between them. 

Shrugging, Dean took a long swallow.  

“What’s going on?”  

“You know I trust you, right?” Dean needed to talk to someone. Someone he’d trust with his life. Art was that person, despite their past. Sam would tell Eileen and give him pitying looks. He couldn’t handle that. 

“With your life,” Art said softly. Dean took another sip of beer and began to speak. He told Art everything. Everything except for the delivery of Anna’s gift because that was way too private and he left out the details of the sex. When he was done, he took another drink and motioned for the bartender to bring him another. “And to top of the shit show, his chef tried to poison me. I can’t eat breakfast with Cas anymore.” 

“What?” Art’s eyes narrowed and Dean waved him off.  

“Not  _poison_  poison... he just put enough salt on the plate to pickle a fuckin’ turd.” 

“Lafitte is loyal,” Art said, but Dean could see he was trying not to smile. 

“Thanks for being sympathetic, dude,” Dean muttered. 

“I am sympathetic, Dean, but I’m trying to see this from all sides. You had birthday sex with the Vice President and then basically said no thanks, I can’t deal. Put yourself in Novak’s shoes. Mick couldn’t handle living in a fishbowl and breaks up with him, then he meets you. There’s mutual attraction and you act on it. Then what happens? You tell him the same thing. Two for two...” Art leaned back on his bar stool and crossed his arms. “That would give even the strongest man a complex.” 

Dean groaned and thunked his head down on the bar. “I’m an asshole.” 

“A loveable asshole, but still an asshole,” Art said, patting him on the back. Dean allowed himself five minutes to wallow in pity and then he lifted his chin. He asked about Mick and was almost jealous when Art talked about their weekend getaway. At least, someone was happy. 

When he went back to work on Saturday, he swung through a fast food joint and bought an unsatisfying sausage biscuit. He hadn’t touched Benny’s meals since the salt incident. Several days later and he was still unable to stomach potato chips. 

He’d already put together a preliminary plan for Cas’ upcoming vacation, so when Cas called his little meeting to nix those plans, Dean wasn’t happy. He spoke up once, but Cas shot him down and he wasn’t about to argue in front of Cas’ staff. He’d bide his time. 

The time came later that night. He clocked out and walked through the back area where Cas’ house staff parked. Killing two birds with one stone, he waited by Benny’s car. The chef came out a few minutes later. When he saw Dean, he hesitated briefly and then finished his walk. “Dean.” 

“Benny.” Both men eyed each other. Dean was reminded of two roosters sizing each other up.  

“My wife is home and waiting on me,” Benny said, waiting for Dean to move aside. 

“You got a beef with me?”  

“He’s my friend and I don’t like to see anyone fucking with him.” The Cajun was a big dude and Dean had a feeling they’d be equally matched in a fist fight. Not that they’d stoop that low. 

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Dean said, all the posturing going out of him.  

“Too late,” Benny snapped. “I really thought...” 

“I wasn’t thinking. Okay? Satisfied. I fucked up.” 

“So, fix it,” Benny said, leaning against his car beside Dean. 

“I’m scared shitless. I... we... it was perfect. You know? We were having fun...” 

“Do. Not. Give. Me. Details.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean muttered and continued. “Everything was great and then... and then...” 

“You threw up your walls.” 

“What?” Dean cut his eyes to Benny. “What are you talking about?” 

“Castiel said you threw up your walls.” 

Huh. Was that what he did? “Shit.” 

“You have two options, brotha’. You either transfer out of here or grow a set. If you hurt him again, I’m going to cut off your balls and serve them to you with extra salt.” 

Dean winced and crossed his legs. “No one seems to care that dating me would be bad for Cas’ image.” 

“You, my friend, are a moron.” He straightened and shoved Dean aside. Dean watched him drive away.  

“Well, no shit,” he said to himself as he walked to the back door. 

From the kitchen, he heard the sound of someone tapping a piano key over and over. He followed the sound. Cas sat, head bowed, his fingertip plucking out a single chord. 

“I thought you played.” Cas jumped and turned at his words.  

“You have taken to breaking and entering well. A life of crime could be in your future.” Dean almost laughed. He missed Cas’ sass. 

“Keys. Remember?” He stepped into the room, but stayed far enough away from the man that he wasn’t inclined to touch him. “We need to talk.”  

“I’m assuming you wish to discuss my upcoming trip.” What else would it be? Oh.  _Shit_. Cas turned back to the piano, effectively turning his back on Dean. Okay, so not how he wanted this to go. 

“Cas, you can’t just hop on a plane and take a vacation like normal people. You need your full detail. I can guarantee they will be unobtrusive as possible.” Cas’ safety was the most important thing to Dean and he wasn’t backing down on this. 

“No.” Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion. That wasn’t a  _willing to discuss_  no. That was a  _final_ no. Castiel was ruffling through his sheet music and Dean could almost see the tension radiating off of him.  

“No? Cas, you’re being unreasonable.” Instead of responding, Cas started playing. “Damn it, Cas.”  

He didn’t stop and Dean remained fists tight at his side, trying to recognize the song. It was important, he just knew it.  _Stubborn motherfucker_. It was time to retreat, regroup, and  _maybe_ wave the white flag. 

In the end, Dean had to wave the damn flag. Cas got his way. It was bad enough, he was only allowed to take two other agents, but they were going by helicopter. A spinning casket of terror. 

 

It wasn’t until Castiel and his three agents were jogging across the lawn to the helicopter that he gave thought to Dean’s fear of flying. He almost stumbled and Jo ran into his back. She yelled out an apology of the loud beating of the turning rotors.  

Inside the UH-60, they all took their seats. Dean looked positively green. It was too late to do anything about it now. The estimated air time was three hours and twenty-two minutes. Dean would have to deal with it. 

The aircraft was smaller than Marine One, but still had the capacity to hold fourteen people. Besides the two Marine pilots, it was just the four of them. Harvelle and Henrickson both took window seats and Dean sat between them, eyes unfocused.  

The pilot announced they were lifting off and the aircraft swooped forward. Castiel turned in his seat and tapped the co-pilots shoulder. “We need to distract Agent Winchester. He’s...” The Marine glanced at Dean and nodded, giving him a thumbs up. 

The helicopter climbed to its required ten thousand feet and then the speakers blasted out the opening notes of Steppenwolf’s  _Born to Be Wild_. Dean stared at Castiel as if he was going to put a stop to the nonsense, but Castiel laughed. Soon Harvelle and Henrickson were singing along. By the third song, Dean looked more relaxed. Castiel leaned back to enjoy the ride. 

The landing was uneventful and there were two black Denali SUVs waiting. Castiel was directed to the second one and Dean climbed in behind him. He was already talking on the phone. He’d organized a police escort. One vehicle, no lights. Castiel heard him discussing the route with the officer.  

As they drove through the streets of northern Chicago, Castiel grew excited to see his family. It had been a long time since all of them got together under one roof. 

The police car drove past the gates of his parents’ home and the gatehouse guard came out as the two SUV’s stopped. The driver of the first car rolled down his window, said something to the man, and a moment later, the loud grating sound of the gates opening could be heard. Dean was openly gawking as the house came into view. “Nice digs.” 

“My father’s books sell extremely well,” Castiel said, as they rounded the driveway. They stopped by the front walk and Castiel waited while his detail got out of the vehicles and met by his door. Dean opened it and led them up to the front entrance.  

Castiel was just about to try the door when it opened to reveal his sister. She squealed and threw her arms around him. He swung her around, laughing at her enthusiasm. His mom and dad came from somewhere in the house and soon the front entry was a chaotic scene of coming home. Once everyone had said their hellos and gotten their hug, Castiel stepped aside and introduced the three agents.  

Even with his father’s celebrity career and his mother’s political aspirations, the two Novak kids were raised as normally as possible. They had to clean their rooms, earn spending money, and maintain good grades. That’s why he wasn’t surprised when his mother took control of his detail. “I will show you all to your rooms. Castiel, help your sister with refreshments.” 

“Ma’am, I’ve booked rooms at the hotel...” Castiel waited, knowing what was coming. 

She bestowed Dean with the ‘mom look’ and he stopped mid-sentence. “Agent Winchester, you are a guest in my home. Your job is to protect my son, but for this weekend, you are simply a guest.” Dean knew when to pick his battles, it seemed, so Castiel left him to his mom’s care. 

In the kitchen, Anna was already putting pitchers of tea, lemonade, and some sort of fruit punch on a tray. “Get the glasses, will you?” Castiel opened the cabinet and did as he was told. They filled an ice bucket and then Anna located a package of cookies. “This should be fine. I know mom said we’d be having a late lunch.” 

She carried the small tray of glasses and cookies, while he took the one with the beverages. He followed her onto the patio. He looked out over the expanse of the lake and smiled. It was good to be here with his family. Luc had taken Jacob down to the shore and it looked like his nephew was picking up rocks. “How was the flight?” 

“Jacob did well.  We packed his favorite snacks, his fleece blanket, and loaded his tablet with his favorite movies. Thankfully, it was nonstop and first class does have its perks,” she said breezily. She made it seem so easy, but Castiel knew her struggle. He’d brought Jacob something called Tangle Relax Therapy and planned on spending some alone time with him. 

“So, tell me about Agent McDreamy. He’s pretty.” He knew who she was talking about, but he couldn’t resist teasing her.  

“Agent Henrickson is married, Anna. He is quite handsome though.” His father and mother picked that moment to come through the French doors. 

“Your agents will be down shortly,” his mother informed him. 

“He’s not the one I was talking about and you know it. I saw the wedding band... I’m a woman after all. I check these things out.” 

“Who are we talking about?” His mother looked from Anna to Castiel. 

“The hot agent that guards Castiel with his life,” Anna said, grinning. 

“Anna...” Castiel warned. He would not have Dean embarrassed.  

“You don’t shit where you eat. That’s what I always say,” his father chimed in. “Bad idea to mingle with your employees.” 

“When have you ever had employees, dear?” His mother picked up a pitcher and poured herself some of the punch. His father shrugged and walked toward the lake to see Jacob and Luc. “Now, were we dishing about the pretty one?” 

“Mother...”  

“I’m not too old to look. I told you before he’s quite pretty. As your mother, I think I should inform you that he likes staring at your butt.” 

“Jesus, Mom,” he exclaimed and promptly shut his mouth when the French doors opened again and the agents stepped outside.  

“I hope you brought more than just suits,” his mother said, eyeing the agents critically. All three looked cornered.   

“Mother, despite my argument with Dean, they are on duty this weekend.” It wasn’t until both his mother and sister turned to stare at him that he realized he’d called Dean by his first name. They would be on that like a vulture to roadkill.  

“Well, Dean... May I call you Dean?” At Dean’s nod, his mother continued. “Castiel obviously thinks it is fine for you to wear civilian clothes.” She clapped her hands like it was a done deal. “That's settled, let’s have refreshments and then we’ll have our lunch around one.” 

Castiel gave Dean an apologetic look and wished for something stronger than lemonade.  


	12. Chapter 12

The helicopter ride was slightly less horrific because the pilot blasted some awesome music out of the speakers and watching Jo and Vic singing along was pretty fucking funny. Seeing Cas grinning at their antics was... well, amazing.  

The landing was scary as fuck, but once the skids hit the ground, Dean felt better. He leaned in to thank the pilot for the music and the Marine shook his head. “You need to thank the Vice President. It was kind of his idea.” Dean stared at the back of Cas’ head as he saluted the two Marines on the ground crew.  _Huh_. 

Dean had studied the layout of Senator Novak’s home and had talked to her security guard employed to work at the gate. It was an impressive set up. A large metal and stone fence surrounded the property with motion sensors and security cameras. Trained guard dogs were released at night once the family was asleep. All in all, it was a ritzy estate. The pictures and design drawings didn’t prepare Dean for the actual beauty of the place.  

He knew Cas was raised in a more modest home and that the Novaks purchased this place about ten years ago, when Chuck Novak’s first book was made into a movie and the Senator was elected to her third term. It was still daunting to know a mansion like this was  _normal_ for Cas. Hell, the Winchesters had lived in a tiny three-bedroom house in the suburbs. Dean’s own apartment in Washington was less than a thousand square feet. DC was expensive as hell. 

It was kind of cool that Cas’ family met them at the door, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. The Senator was even wearing jeans. Cas’ dad was soft-spoken and Anna, Cas’ sister, was much prettier than her dossier portrayed her. Her husband, Luc, was quiet, but Dean had a feeling he was a force to be reckoned with since he was some high-powered lawyer out in LA.  

It was Jacob that held Dean’s attention. He was a couple of years older than Toby, a thin boy with glasses. His father was holding his hand and talking soothingly to him when they all entered the huge foyer. It got kind of loud with Cas’ family greeting him and then there were the introductions, but Luc keep all his focus on his son.  

Cas went to Jacob last. He moved slowly and took a knee in front of the kid. It made the material of his slacks stretch nicely over his runner’s ass. He remembered how that ass looked naked and quickly looked away. He couldn’t hear what Cas was saying to the boy, but after a few seconds, he stood and started talking to his parents about the flight. Dean noted that Jacob started flapping his hands in agitation, but Luc was quick to take him somewhere quieter.  

Once everyone was introduced, the Senator spoke, “I will show you all to your rooms. Castiel, help your sister with refreshments.” 

Dean was quick to tell her he’d booked rooms at a hotel less than a mile away. They were going to take shifts so not to impose on the family too much. The look she gave him made his ass clench. “Agent Winchester, you are a guest in my home. Your job is to protect my son, but for this weekend, you are simply a guest.” 

Cas, the bastard, smirked and left them. They went outside to gather their luggage and followed Senator Novak up the stairs to the guest rooms. “I will leave you to freshen up and unpack. Find your way out to the patio when you’re done.” 

The guest room was spacious and much nicer than a hotel room. He was sharing a bathroom with Vic and Jo’s room was across the hall. Dean’s idea of freshening up meant to take a piss and toss his bag on the queen size bed. He met Jo and Vic in the hall. “Is anyone else freaked out about this?” Jo asked, straightening her jacket and adjusting her shoulder holster. “I mean, I figured Dean would get to stay here, but...” 

“Wait. Why me?” Dean stopped walking to stare at her. 

She grinned. “Everyone knows you’re the Angel’s favorite.” 

“Shut up,” he said, trying not to blush. By Jo’s laugh, he wasn’t successful. “And you,” he pointed to Vic. “Shut your cakehole.” 

Vic held up his hands. “My lips are sealed.” 

Dean led the way down the staircase and headed toward the back of the house. While opulent, it wasn’t overdone. There were toys scattered about and Dean saw stacks of books on various tables. It looked like a home. A rich person’s home, but a home nonetheless. He spotted the French doors and beyond them, Cas and his family, the lake in the background. 

When they stepped out, Dean took in the view. The dark blue of the lake, the manicured lawn, and the small dock where a large pontoon boat was moored. “I hope you brought more than just suits,” Senator Novak said, staring at them critically. Dean felt all eyes on him. What did you say to that? He was really getting the  _mom vibe_ from her. 

“Mother, despite my argument with Dean, they are on duty this weekend.”  _Way to throw him under the bus_... 

Suddenly, Dean found his wardrobe choices taken out of his hands. He hadn’t packed casual clothes because, _hello_ , he was going to be on duty. All he had was suits and running clothes, because he knew Cas was the type of guy that would exercise on vacation. The sadist. Dean thought Cas enjoyed torturing him. 

Lunch was served out on the patio. Chuck manned the grill and Dean’s mouth watered as the shish kebabs were placed on platters. There was corn on the cob, salad, and a heaping bowl of fresh melon slices. There were several bottles of wine on the table, but Dean, Jo, and Vic drank lemonade instead. Chuck stood up once everyone’s plates were full. He held up his wine glass. “To my family. I can’t be prouder, and to new friends.” 

Dean envied Cas. Growing up with both a mother and a father was something he’d only dreamed about as a child. John did the best he could, but a cop’s life was stressful and didn’t leave a lot of time for two boys. He couldn’t remember a time where they grilled out like this.  

He found himself sitting between Cas and the Senator. Cas was speaking to Luc about discrimination laws, but  _please call me Naomi_ was questioning Dean about everything Winchester. Dean answered her questions about his family, his life with the police force, and his marital status. “I haven’t met the right person yet, I guess,” he told her, trying his best not to embarrass himself with his table manners. 

“Person?” Her eyes zeroed in on him. Dean swallowed and nodded quickly. 

“Mother,” Cas’ voice broke in before Dean could answer. “Please stop interrogating Agent Winchester.” 

“How else am I going to get to know him?” She asked and Dean didn’t buy her innocent tone at all.  

He got a reprieve when the meal finished and Chuck insisted on taking ‘the boys’ down to show off the boat. 

 

Castiel tried to listen to Luc and his mother grilling Dean at the same time. Most of her questions were the normal _getting to know you_  things, but when she asked Dean if he was married, he had to put a stop to it. Agent Henrickson had been involved in a conversation with his father, while Harvelle was listening to Anna talk about the publishing industry.  

He was relieved when his father dragged all the men down to the dock to see the new boat. Chuck led the group, talking to Dean and Henrickson the entire way. Luc hung back with Castiel. “Are you and Winchester a thing?” 

“What makes you ask that?”  

Luc laughed. “Answering a question with a question is a sure-fire way to let someone know you are hiding something.” 

“How obvious is it that I find him attractive?” Castiel needed to know. Was he embarrassing himself and calling attention to Dean?  

“You’re both giving off signals.” Luc shrugged and lowered his voice as they drew closer to the other men. “Anna and your mother will have you married before the weekend is out.” 

“I shall speak to them. I do not want Dean put on the spot. He’s a good man and his private life should remain private.” 

“You didn’t answer my original question.” 

“No, Dean and I are not a ‘thing’. He’s become a good friend and that’s all he wants. I respect his wishes,” he said stiffly.  

Chuck insisted the agents go change because he wanted to take the boat out for a spin. Dean pulled Castiel aside. “Cas, we don’t have anything casual. Could you maybe tell your parents we’re good. This is your family time. We don’t want to intrude.” 

Castiel chuckled at Dean’s naiveté’. “My mother has her mind made up, Dean. There is a mall a few miles from here. I would suggest you take your agents and make a quick trip.” Castiel pulled out his wallet and handed Dean his American Express. “Please put it on my tab.” 

Dean shook his head vehemently. “No fucking way are you paying for my clothes.” 

“Don’t be stubborn. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.” Castiel pushed the card at him and Dean backed away, arms crossed. “Really, Dean?” 

“What’s going on?” Like all mothers, Naomi Novak was born with a sixth sense about her children’s distress. He could use it to his advantage. Dean was already afraid of his mom.  

“Agents Winchester, Henrickson, and Harvelle did not bring suitable vacation attire. I have suggested that he take my credit card to the mall and buy a few items for the weekend. He’s being stubborn, Mom.” He saw Anna hide her grin. She had his number.  

Apparently, his mom had it too. She put on a stern face and approached Dean. “Young man, are you giving my son a hard time? He is the Vice President of the United States of America...” All eyes were on Dean and it was his father that lost it first. 

In a burst of laughter, he took his wife’s hand. ”Darling, please don’t scare the guests.” To Dean, he said, “She’s just rattling your chain, son. But I would suggest you take my son up on his offer. Otherwise, Naomi and Anna might go shopping for you. Castiel had to go to the first day of kindergarten in one of Anna’s  _My Little Pony_  t-shirts. She is not to be trifled with.” 

“And that’s the reason I turned gay,” Castiel said dryly, causing his family to burst into laughter. 

Dean’s eyes grew wide and he snatched the card from Castiel’s hand. The family was still laughing as the three agents left to go shopping. 

While they were gone, Castiel unpacked his gift for Jacob and found the boy in the sunroom playing with his collection of toy cars. “Hello, Jacob. I brought you a gift.” Castiel handed him the toy that was recommended by the Austism Society’s website.  

Jacob took the offered gift and carefully unwrapped it. Anna peeked in the door. “Oh, there you are. Mom wondered what happened to you.” 

“I thought I’d spend some time with my nephew.” He smiled at Jacob and watched as he studied the twistable toy. Castiel could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he began to manipulate it.  

“You like him.” 

Castiel looked up, eyebrows together in a frown. “Of course, he’s my nephew.” 

“Don’t be obtuse. I’m talking about ‘Dean’. He’s gorgeous and way too good for you,” she teased.  

He didn’t give in to her teasing. “That’s the thing... he thinks I’m too good for him. He thinks if we publicly date, he will somehow ruin me.” 

Anna’s smile faded. “You really do like him.” Castiel nodded, ruffling Jacob’s hair and standing up. 

“I do.” She linked her arm through his and the two siblings walked down to the shoreline. Castiel found himself telling Anna everything, minus the sexual details. 

“Well, we will just have to prove to him that you’re worth the trouble.”  

“No,” Castiel said emphatically. “You will not get involved. More importantly, you will not let Mom play any matchmaking games. You know how she gets.” 

“Since when have I been able to control our mother. If you remember correctly, she picked Luc out for me and look at us.” 

“A fluke. Remember Dick. God, that was a disaster.” 

“In Mom’s defense, she didn’t know he was embezzling.” As they walked along, the two reminisced about their mother’s endearing, yet meddling ways. 

 

 From the backseat, Vic kept up a steady commentary about the Novak family. Jo sat silently beside him, and Dean followed the GPS directions to the local mall. When they parked, the three got out of the rented SUV and Dean took charge. “We’ll go to Macy’s. Don’t go crazy. Just enough casual shit to get us through Sunday. Monday, we’ll be back in the suits.”  

They stepped inside the huge department store and got their bearings. Dean pointed to one of the cashier’s counters. “Meet there at four.” 

Jo took off toward the ladies’ department and the two men made their way to the men’s section. Vic stayed near him and offered up suggestions, but Dean ignored him. He picked out a pair of jeans he could wear for two days and two polo shirts. He’d feel like a fool wearing them, but that seemed like standard attire for rich folks. 

“You need to get some shorts,” Vic said. Dean rolled his eyes. No way was he wearing shorts, not with his bowed and white legs. They hadn’t seen the sun since last summer when Sam insisted he go on vacation with him and Eileen. 

In the end, Jo finished before they did due to their constant arguing about appropriate clothes, and she grabbed Dean a pair of khaki shorts and boat shoes.  

As per Cas’ instructions, Dean called him as they approached the cashier and he authorized the purchases. He winced at the amount, but Cas didn’t seem to mind. “We’re on our way back then, I guess.” 

“See you soon,” Cas said and Dean hung up the phone. Jo and Vic were grinning at him. 

“Wait until the boyfriend sees you in those shorts.” Dean glared at Vic, but he shook his head. Jo looked from Dean to Vic and back again. “Dude, you know it’s obvious, right. The eye fucking alone would give it away.” 

“It’s not like that,” Dean argued. 

“Keep telling yourself that, big boy,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, let’s go, Anna said we were having a shrimp boil tonight.” 

Back at the house, they went to their rooms and changed at Naomi’s insistence. Chuck took them all out for a quick boat ride before dinner. Dean found himself standing next to Cas at the helm. Cas was showing him something on his dad’s depthfinder and he looked up at Cas’ smiling face. The Vice President had a baseball cap on backwards, two days' worth of stubble, and he couldn’t have been hotter. Dean was gone... he turned away to stare out across the lake. What the hell was he going to do now? 

An hour later, Dean was standing next to Cas in the huge kitchen, cutting up sausage. “Your parents don’t have cooks?” 

Cas shook his head. “No, they both love to cook. They have a cleaning lady that comes in once a week, but despite the house, they live simply.” 

“But you have a housekeeper and a chef,” Dean challenged.  

“Only because the housekeeper is paid by the government, and Benny, well, Benny is my extravagance. Besides, I have to entertain dignitaries on occasion.” 

“He’s your friend.” It was a statement. Dean wondered if Cas had any other friends. He’d spent his birthday alone... well, almost alone. He was a great guy. Smart, funny, and ridiculously handsome. Not that friends cared about shit like that. 

“He is,” Cas agreed. He picked up the cut sausage and put them in a large bowl. Across the kitchen, Jo and Anna had their heads together, laughing softly while they shucked corn. Vic was out with Chuck getting the cooker ready on the patio. Dean didn’t know where Naomi had disappeared to. 

The sun was setting when Chuck announced dinner was ready and he spread the boil out onto the table. This time, Dean sat between Jacob and Cas. Was it a conspiracy to get them in the same orbit? 

Jacob sat staring at his plate, but he wasn’t eating. Dean glanced over and saw that Anna was helping her mom pour the wine. Dean picked up his fork and reached for Jacob’s plate. “See, your potatoes are touching your sausage. That won’t do, will it?” He pushed them apart. “Can you eat your corn like that, or do you want me to cut if off the cob for you?” 

“Off,” Jacob said shyly.  

“Sure thing, buddy.” Dean did the job and removed the cob from the plate. “Better?” 

“Better,” the boy repeated and picked up his fork. It was only then that Dean noticed how quiet the entire table had gotten. He looked up to see all eyes on him. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Anna said, sounding emotional.  

“Dean’s nephew is on the spectrum,” Cas told everyone and there were a few nods. Naomi reached across the table and patted his hand. Embarrassed, Dean picked up an ear of corn and began to eat. 

Naomi announced that Cas, Dean, Luc, and Vic were in charge of clean up. The four of them made quick work of it and the adults sat outside to talk. Dean kept quiet, content on listening to the Novak family catching up on their lives.  

Naomi and Chuck were the first to go inside for bed. Then Anna and Luc stood to say their goodnights. “Guess I’ll head up too,” Jo said, following them in.  

Vic finished his one beer that Dean allowed and got up. “Night.” 

“Why do I feel like everyone wants you and I to spend time together?” Dean asked before he could chicken out. 

Cas leaned back in his chair and tipped his beer up. Dean watched his throat as he swallowed and his hand tightened involuntarily on the edges of the bench where he sat. “My family probably thinks you are a good match for me. Especially after you were so good with Jacob.” He licked his lips and set down the bottle. “Mick tried to interact, but he didn’t understand Jacob’s...” 

“Differences,” Dean supplied. “They’re still just kids. You just have to see what makes ‘em tick.” 

Heaving himself out of his chair, Cas looked down at Dean. “Thank you for coming with me, Dean. I thought you might arrange for another agent...” 

“Cas...” Dean stopped, not knowing what to say. 

“Good night, Dean.” Cas picked up the empty beer bottles and Dean heard the clink of them settling in the trash bin. He stared out over the water and waited until he heard the door close. He rubbed his hands over his face. Cas would be so easy to fall for. So fuckin’ easy.  

The funny thing was, no one seemed bothered by the thought of Cas and Dean together. If his own parents didn’t care, why was Dean so hung up on how it would look? He blew out a breath and got to his feet.  

Cas had shown him the alarm system earlier, so he locked the French doors and set it. He climbed the stairs and for a brief moment wondered which room was Cas’. If he had the information, what would he do with it? “Good thing, huh, Winchester?” 


	13. Chapter 13

He tried to sleep, but there was an itch under his skin that made him restless. Tossing and turning wasn’t helping matters, so he got up. A book might help, but the novel he’d packed had proven to be boring. Carefully, as not to disturb anyone else, he let himself into the hall and made his way downstairs to his father’s study. 

There was a faint light coming from the kitchen and curious, he poked his head in. Dean’s form was illuminated in the glow from the open refrigerator. He was dressed in a pair of flannel sleep pants that had seen better days and a loose gray t-shirt. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he said softly at the same time he flipped on the lights. 

Dean gave an undignified squeak and jumped a half foot in the air. “Jesus Christ, Cas.” 

“Sorry,” Castiel said, though he wasn’t. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” Dean mumbled, closing the appliance door. “What are you doing up?” Dean was trying his best not to let his eyes roam down Castiel’s barely clad body. He was only wearing a pair of loose-fitting boxers in black silk. He hadn’t bothered to put a robe on since he wasn’t expecting to meet anyone.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Castiel brushed past Dean to grab a glass. “I was on my way to my father’s office when I saw the light.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk. 

He motioned for Dean to get his own glass and he filled them. “My mom keeps cookies for dad’s late night writing sessions. Would you like some?”

“Milk and cookies... sounds pretty awesome.” 

Castiel found the plastic container and pulled it from the cabinet. When he unsnapped the lid, he smiled.  Peanut butter. His favorite.

They sat at the breakfast bar, in companionable silence, for a time and finally, Dean spoke. “You’re making it hard to keep my distance.” 

He knew what it took for Dean to admit that and he took a second to think about his next words. “If you are expecting an apology for being attracted to you, you will be waiting a long time. You are a good man, Dean. I will respect your wishes to keep this thing between us from affecting our professional relationship, but I find your reasoning behind it... stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting that,” Dean said wryly. “Your family... they wouldn’t mind?”

Castiel laughed softly. “My mother has probably already picked out the china patterns.” At Dean’s stricken expression, Castiel quickly added, “I’m teasing, Dean. Though with Mom, you never know.”

Dean finished his milk and stood up. Had Castiel gone too far? He watched Dean’s back as he rinsed out his glass. He decided to change tactics. “Have you ever read any of my dad’s books?”

“No. These days, my reading consists of procedural manuals and car mags. I haven’t read a good book in a long time.”

“You should always find time to read. I find that I need it. It helps me escape.”

“Guess your job is kind of stressful, huh?” Dean was facing him, his back to the counter. His stance appeared casual, but Castiel could see the tension in his muscles.

“Sometimes. But I love what President Mosley and I have accomplished so far.” Castiel rose from his chair and Dean moved over to allow him to get to the sink. He rinsed his glass and set it next to Dean’s. “Follow me,” he said after drying his hands.

He didn’t turn around to see if Dean obeyed. His father’s study was one of his favorite rooms in the house. It was small with wall to wall bookcases built in. Instead of making the room dark and imposing, his mother’s touches made it warm and inviting. A lamp was already lit and Castiel knew that was the norm since Chuck’s muse could hit any time, day or night. The beautiful spiral staircase led up to his mother’s studio on the second floor. Not many people were aware his mom dabbled in painting.

Dean followed him into the room and Castiel watched as he took in the space. His fingertip trailed along a shelf of leather-bound classics. Tom Sawyer. The Great Gatsby. War and Peace. Castiel had read them all. When Dean looked up at the staircase, Castiel said, “My mother paints. Her studio is up there. When they had this house built, dad wanted her close.”

“They’re great, Cas.” He heard the sadness in his voice and remembered Dean’s file. His mother had died when he was a small child. 

“Yes, they are,” Castiel agreed softly. He padded across the carpet to Dean’s side. “I want to kiss you.” Dean’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. Castiel moved closer, challenging Dean to say no. “No strings.”

“Why don’t I believe you,” Dean whispered and Castiel’s gaze was drawn to his mouth. Dean parted his lips and closed his eyes. Castiel sank into the man. Languid and easy, not quite chaste, but not seeking out more. If Dean wanted more, it would be his decision.

He tasted of milk and his mother’s cookies. Castiel felt, more than heard, Dean’s sigh of contentment. His hands came up and gripped Castiel’s waist, then moving higher to skim across his bare ribs. He felt molten heat wherever Dean touched.

The clock began to chime and to calm himself, Castiel counted. One. Two. Three. When it stopped at midnight, he broke the kiss. His eyes met Dean’s. Without a word, Castiel sank to his knees. He would worship this man for as long as he could. 

He curled his fingers into the elastic and tugged them down. Dean’s cock was already filling, thickening... Castiel looked up, unable to hide his satisfaction. Dean’s eyes were half closed, his skin was flushed, and his breathing was already faster than normal. 

His eyes dropped back to what was in front of his face. Dean’s shaft was thick, the head red, the length longer than the average six inches. His pubic hair was trimmed. Castiel leaned forward, the need to taste was overwhelming. He stuck out his tongue and licked the slit. Dean moaned and his hands reached for Castiel’s hair, curling into the thick, brown locks. Castiel hummed his approval. He saw a bead of precum appear and he lapped it up. “Cas... Jesus...”

Hating to be a tease, Castiel opened his mouth and took Dean inside. There was a gasp from above him and he smiled around Dean’s cock. He brought his right hand up to grip the base. Dean was fully hard now and as Castiel started to suck, he could feel him twitch and loved the spurt of arousal on his tongue. 

Castiel’s own cock was hard and aching. He reached down with his other hand and released it from the slit in his boxers. The silk was damp with his own precum. He stroked himself, setting a rhythm with both his hands and mouth. He lost himself in the moment. Dean was making the most delicious sounds, from deep moans to soft whimpers. Sucking cock turned him on. He loved the sense of power he held over another man just by giving head. He pulled off to lick and suck on Dean’s balls for a few moments to keep Dean on the edge a while longer. When Dean’s hands loosened on his hair, he went back to driving him crazy.

He moved his head up and down faster, taking Dean deeper down his throat. Dean’s balls tightened and by the sounds he was making and the way he was tugging at Castiel’s hair, he knew the other man was close. He was too. 

“Fuck... Uh...Uh... Cas... stop... I’m gonna.” Dean was trying to push him away, but Castiel wasn’t having it. He released his own cock and wrapped his palm around Dean’s ass cheek. “God...” Dean’s cum pumped into his mouth. It was hot, thick, and bitter, and it was all Dean. Castiel let it roll over his tongue before swallowing. He kept Dean’s cock in his mouth, gently suckling it until it softened and Dean made a pained noise. When he pulled off, he looked up. Dean was staring down at him, eyes hooded. Castiel licked his lips and Dean huffed out a bark of laughter. “You’re a dick. A sexy as fuck dick.”

Castiel smiled and used the bookcase behind Dean to help him stand. His knees, despite his running, weren’t young anymore. As soon as he was on his feet, Dean hauled him against his chest, kissing him. Knowing Dean was tasting himself on Castiel’s tongue made his neglected cock throb. He broke the kiss and nipped at Dean’s lower lip. “I love sucking cock,” he whispered against Dean’s lips. “Does that shock you?”

“Nothing you could say or do would shock me anymore,” Dean replied softly, his eyes locking on Castiel’s. Something passed between them, Castiel felt it, but couldn’t put a name on it. Dean blinked lazily and gave Castiel a soft peck. He felt Dean’s knuckles drifting down his chest, lower... inch by inch. “Just for the record, I like giving head too.”

“Really?” Castiel smiled softly and thrust his hard cock against Dean’s palm. 

“Yeah.” He curled his fingers around Castiel’s shaft and ran his thumb over the slit. “Uhmmm, wet.” He pushed Castiel back so that he was almost sitting on his father’s desk. It felt dirty and oddly arousing. Dean’s hand was moving up and down his cock now and Castiel let his head fall back. It felt so damn good. Then Dean’s mouth was on one of his nipples, nipping and sucking. Castiel groaned and brought his hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head to hold him there. 

The sudden burst of light coming from the spiral staircase caused both men to jump. His mother’s voice came from above. “I know I heard something.”

“Sweetheart, this house is like Fort Knox. No one is in the house but family and guests. If you heard something, it’s probably one of them.”

“Why would anyone be in your office?”

“We can hear you?” Castiel said loudly, tucking his softening cock into his boxers. Dean looked stricken and mouthed, ‘ _What the fuck are you doing_?’

“Castiel? What are you doing awake?” He saw his mother’s feet as they appeared on the steps. Dean looked ready to bolt for the door and Castiel caught his hand, holding it firm. When her face came into view, she lifted her eyebrow. “Oh, Dean... hello. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

His father was right behind her, both dressed in bathrobes.

“No... no, Mrs... Senator... Ma’am, no interruption here. We were... just...” Castiel grinned at Dean’s incoherent rambling. Dean’s hand waved at the bookcases. “just, uh, looking at books.”

Naomi placed her hand on Chuck’s arm. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days, darling.”

“Don’t make a mess in here,” his father said, leading his wife back up the stairs.

Dean swatted Castiel’s arm and hissed. “Why didn’t you help, asshole?”

When Castiel showed up in the kitchen wearing nothing but boxers, the expensive silk ones that left little to the imagination, Dean felt a surge of desire. How a conversation over milk and cookies turned into an awesome blowjob in Chuck Novak’s office, he couldn’t have said.

Cas seemed to know everything that Dean loved and he did them all. Licking him from base to tip, mouthing his balls, taking him so deep that Dean could feel his throat contracting. It was perfection.

He was all geared up to return the favor, vowing to himself that he was going to rock Cas’ world, when the parents showed up. Dean felt like he was in high school again, caught in Rhonda Hurley’s basement rec room by her mom. 

Faced with the Novak’s curious faces, Dean floundered. He was a stuttering mess and Castiel just stood there grinning like an idiot. “Why didn’t you help, asshole?”

“Help? Did you need help?”

“You parents knew what we were doing,” he hissed, dragging fingers through his hair.

“I seriously doubt they knew I’d given you head moments before their arrival, Dean. They probably assumed we were ‘making out’.” The fucker used air quotes and Dean did not find it cute. He didn’t.

“Auugh,” Dean groaned. “I’m going to call in another agent and leave.”

Cas smiled softly and pulled Dean to him, wrapping him in a hug. “No, you aren’t.”

“I am,” Dean whined, secretly loving the feel of Cas’ arms around him.

“I’ll tell my mom...” Cas’ voice was sing-song and he let the last word drag out.

“You shut up,” Dean mumbled, his lips pouty. Cas’ gaze went to them and his eyes flicked upward before closing them and kissing Dean. It was like Cas had all the time in the world to savor Dean’s mouth. The kiss held affection. It wasn’t sexual at all and Dean sank into it, thoughts of Cas’ parents forgotten. He let his fingers roam over warm skin.

Breaking the kiss with a soft moan, Cas leaned back so he could see Dean, but he kept his arms around Dean’s waist. “We will be expected for breakfast.”

Dean hummed non-committedly, and brought his mouth down on the pulse point on Cas’ throat. He didn’t want to think about food when he had Cas ready and willing at his fingertips. Cas tilted his head back and let Dean trail soft, open-mouth kisses down his neck. “Dean... stop.”

The word stop got his attention. Dean knew that no meant no. He straightened and pulled away. “I’m sorry, I thought...”

“Shhh, I would love to continue this, but it is almost one and my family has made plans. We should both get some sleep.” Relief washed over him. 

“Yeah... you’re right. We should stop.” Dean was happy to see that Cas’ cock was hard again. “Shame we can't take care of this,” he said, reaching down to run his palm over Cas’ shaft.

Cas took Dean’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, laying a kiss on his knuckles. How did something so romantic make Dean’s heart race? He wasn’t into the hearts and flowers kind of shit. Blue eyes blinked sleepily. “You can owe me one.” He curled his fingers around Dean’s and tugged him out into the hall. Dean found himself following obediently. They walked up the staircase and then Cas stopped in front of a door. “Come sleep with me.” 

The euphoria from the blowjob and the heady kissing had worn off in the trek through the spacious home and any of the warm feelings left at Cas’ words. “Whoa. This is your parents’ house, dude. We can’t shack up here.”

He tilted his head to the side and stated, “You do realize I’m an adult, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Cas. This is your parents’ house. There are rules. You don’t fuck in your parents’ house.”

Cas lifted an eyebrow and it looked like he was fighting a smile. “I thought we would sleep, but it is nice to know those rules. Maybe I should discuss them with my mother since I wasn’t aware...”

“Don’t be a dick.” Dean looked up and down the hallway and lowered his voice. “This thing between us is getting ridiculous. I feel like I’m in a badly written rom-com.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Dean,” he said softly and Dean knew it was heartfelt. Cas wouldn’t do anything that Dean wasn’t fully on board with.

“Training wheels, remember, Cas?”

He nodded and stepped into his bedroom. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” Dean stood there until Cas shut his door. Back in his own room, he stared at the empty bed and frowned. He could have been sharing Cas’ bed, but no, he had to have weird-ass morals. 

A loud banging on his door startled Dean out of a deep sleep. He blinked rapidly trying to figure out where he was. Oh, Cas’ parents’ place. Memories of the previous night came back to him in vivid color. “Yeah?”

“Breakfast,” Victor shouted through the door. 

“Give me five,” Dean called back and stood up. He’d shower later. He opened up one of the shopping bags and pulled out a pair of jeans. A few minutes later, he was on his way down the stairs.

Everyone was gathered in the dining room and Dean blushed at being the last to arrive. Cas hadn’t told him there was a schedule. Wasn’t this Cas’ vacation?

There was an empty chair next to Cas. Jo was on the other side, her plate already heaped with enough food to feed a small army. “Good morning, Dean, I trust you slept well?” Naomi was smiling at him over her piece of toast. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled and gave Cas a grateful look when he poured him a cup of coffee. After that, he kept quiet while everyone talked about the plans for the day. 

The rest of the day was spent out on the boat, swimming, or eating. Dean felt like he was the one on vacation. For a corporate attorney, Luc was pretty cool. He and Victor disappeared after lunch to watch a Cubs game. Jo, Anna, and Naomi were down by the shoreline with Jacob. Cas was asleep in a lounge chair and that left Dean with Chuck. Cas’ father asked a lot of questions about his training and experience in the secret service, even making notes sometimes. He said it was for future books and promised Dean he wouldn’t write anything about him.

Chuck finally set his notebook down on the table beside him and watched his son sleeping in the shade. “He’s a good man. I’m proud of him.”

Not knowing what to say, Dean simply nodded. Chuck’s gaze went from Cas to Dean. “I thought him and Mick would make a go of it. They ran in the same circles and in Washington, that’s important to some people.” Dean straightened. Here it comes. The ‘ _you aren’t good enough for my son_ ’ speech. “It’s not important to him though. Not for us either. Do you know when I met Naomi, she was from a wealthy family and I was working my way through college as a plumber’s assistant.” He laughed softly. “Not your most glamorous job. But Naomi didn’t care. When she brought me home that first time to meet the parents... hell, I was scared shitless. I knew I wasn’t good enough to date their daughter.” He paused and stared out at the lake. “Funny thing was, her dad only asked me if I was going to treat her right.”

Dean knew if he was a dad, that’s all he’d want for his kids. Someone to love them and treat them right. 

“So, son, guess I’m asking. Are you going to treat him right?”

His first instinct was to deny everything, but Chuck Novak had been sincere and honest with him. The least Dean could do is give him the truth. “I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Novak. I’m scared. Cas is... Cas... he’s  _the_  Vice President. I like being around him, but I don’t know what he sees in me.”

“My son loves with his whole heart. For some reason, it seems like he’s chosen you. If you aren’t in it for the long haul, I’d ask you to walk away.” Chuck’s eyes bore into his and Dean looked away. His eyes found Cas. He looked so peaceful.

“I don’t think I can,” Dean whispered. Chuck nodded and stood up. He patted Dean’s shoulder as he walked past.

“Good to know, son.” 

Dinner was a simple affair, grilled chicken and roasted potatoes. Dean sat on the flagstone patio beside Jacob. The boy had quite a collection of Hot Wheels and Matchbox Cars. The inner child in Dean was in heaven. Jacob told him about each car in his collection, from the make and model, to where the real deal slid off the assembly line. He showed the kid pictures of his baby and Luc came over to see, which got them involved in a deep conversation about restoring classic vehicles.

Anna came up and led a sleepy Jacob to bed and Naomi herded the adults into the dining room. Stacked on the table were boxes of board games. Dean was envious of Cas’ family. They might be rich and powerful, but deep down, they were a loving family. One like he’d longed for his entire life.

When Anna returned, they all played a raucous round of Loaded Questions. Dean hadn’t laughed so hard in months. Cas was sitting next to him and his thigh was pressed firmly against Dean’s. While Naomi and Anna went to the kitchen for snacks, Dean let his mind wander. Would life be like this if he and Cas made a go of it? Would there be Christmases in this house? He let himself imagine Thanksgiving at Cas’ house in DC – Cas' family, Sam, Eileen, and Toby, all gathered to share a meal. His thoughts screeched to a sudden stop. He stood up so quick that all eyes turned to him. “Sorry... bathroom...”

He didn’t use the bathroom near the kitchen. He raced up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. In his room, he shut the door and leaned against it. He was breathing hard both from panic and exertion. 

A few minutes ticked by and his breathing had returned to normal. He knew he should go back downstairs. Everyone would be wondering what happened to him. He blew out a breath and was about to reach for the doorknob when someone knocked. He swung the door wide. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Cas. Just... uh... stomach thing." God, his mouth engaged before his brain could catch up.

“Liar.”

Game night with the Novaks was loud and sometimes downright scary. Mick never fit in with it and always made an excuse about having to check emails. Castiel was happy to see Dean, Jo, and Victor having fun. Something was on Dean’s mind, but he was doing his best to hide it. Castiel wanted to know what it was, but knew he couldn’t press the issue. Not with Dean.

There was a lull in the game while his mom and sister went to the kitchen for snacks. Cas was asking Luc about Jacob’s school when Dean pushed his chair back loudly. He mumbled something about the bathroom and was gone before anyone could say anything. The table was quiet for a few seconds and then his father said, “He does know there is a bathroom around the corner, right?”

Castiel knew Dean knew. He’d gone in there to wash his hands before they ate dinner. Sensing something was wrong, Castiel excused himself.

Outside of Dean’s room, he hesitated. Was he being too pushy by following Dean? Maybe he _was_  just going to the bathroom. Everyone had to shit sometimes, even someone as gorgeous as Dean. 

“To hell with it,” he whispered and knocked. Dean opened the door. Was he pale, or was it Castiel’s imagination? “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Cas. Just... uh... stomach thing,” Dean said, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. 

“Liar.”

Dean took a step back into his room and Castiel followed. “Cas...”

“Yes?” He was trying to be patient, but Dean’s hot and cold moods were driving him crazy.

Dean sat down on his bed and all the fight seemed to leech out of him. Castiel sat right beside him, close enough their hips were touching. “The whole training wheels thing...”

“Uh huh,” Castiel encouraged.

“Maybe I’d like to try it without them.” Castiel was confused. What was Dean talking about? The training wheel analogy was their code for trying out their relationship, so did he mean... oh. Castiel’s eyes widened and he reached over to rest his palm on Dean’s thigh.

“So, no training wheels...” He had to be sure.

“Yeah, but I’m not ready for hills and city streets. More like a few turns around the block.”  Dean eyes were downcast and then his fingertip began to trace circles on the back of Castiel’s hand.

“I can hold on to the back while you get used to it.”

“That would be good,” Dean responded quietly.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?”

“Probably should.” Dean stood and pulled Castiel to his feet. He nudged his suitcase with the toe of his shoe. “With your parents being all liberal... guess they wouldn’t mind if I slept in your room.”

“They wouldn’t mind at all.” Castiel helped Dean gather his things and they dropped it off in his bedroom before joining the family. Because his family was phenomenal, no one mentioned their absence.

When no one could hide their yawns anymore, the group made their way upstairs. His mother tugged his arm and he stopped. Dean was talking to Victor and didn’t notice. “I haven’t been able to get you alone all day. You have your own personal bodyguard,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s his job,” Castiel replied. “Did you need to talk to me about something?”

“I just wanted to apologize for interrupting last night. Had I known it was you two, I would have stayed in bed.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Does this mean you and Dean are official?”

“Unofficially,” he answered and she frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we are trying to figure things out and Dean would feel more comfortable if the press didn’t get wind of it.” She stopped midway up the stairs and because she had his arm, he had to stop too.

“Castiel, is this what you want?” His mother knew him too well. Castiel had stopped hiding who he was a long time ago. 

“He’s not in the closet, Mom. He just worries about this being a media circus.” His thoughts turned to Mick. If they would have been more discreet would they still be together? Did he believe in fate? Was he meant to break up with Mick so he could give himself to Dean?

“You’ve always been the media’s sweetheart, Castiel, ever since you decided to throw your hat in the ring. I believe the press would see this as a truly unique love story.”

“I’m going to abide by his wishes,” Castiel stated and his mother nodded.

“Of course, you will,” she whispered with a final pat to his arm and then she climbed the few remaining stairs. He continued to his room and found Dean hovering by the door. 

At Castiel’s questioning look, he shrugged. “I thought I should wait for you.”

“Why?”

“It’s your room, man.” Dean looked inside and Castiel tried to see it through his eyes. Obviously, it wasn’t his childhood home, so there was no sentimental attachment. It was a step up from a guest room with family photos on the nightstand and dresser. He kept some clothing in the closet. Right now, his open suitcase was on the chair, his wet swim trunks were hanging over the shower curtain rod, and his toiletries were spread over the counter. Dean’s things were all on his unmade bed where they’d left the earlier.

“For this visit, it’s ours.” Castiel began stripping off his clothes and he was down to his boxers before he realized Dean was standing still, watching him. “If I knew you wanted a show, I would have danced.”

The other man’s blush was too precious not to kiss. He moved into Dean’s personal space and brushed his lips over Dean’s, once and then again. “You are beautiful, Dean.”

“Shut up.” If anything, Dean’s face grew even redder. 

“Hurry up and get undressed. We are taking a bath.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “A bath? I took a shower when we got in from the lake.”

“Dean,” Castiel placed his palm on Dean’s cheek. “This isn’t about getting clean. This is about intimacy.” He feared Dean didn’t have a lot of that in his past relationships. He wanted to spoil Dean. Not with material things, but with his time, his words, and his body.

“Yeah, about that. I’m not the whole hearts and flowers kind of guy, Cas. If that’s what you want, maybe we need to rethink this thing.”

“Intimacy and stereotypical romantic gestures are two different things. Trust me?”

Dean stood for a moment looking unsure, but then he nodded and started to remove his clothes. As much as Castiel wanted to watch, he left Dean alone to start the bath. His en suite had a nice tub. While not oversized, it was big enough for a couple of full-grown men. He tested the water to make sure it was hot enough, added a handful of bath salts, and then poured in some of the expensive bubble bath his mother got him last time he was home. The rich aroma of cedar and rosemary filled the air as steam rose from the surface.

He thought about lighting candles, but since Dean was already associating a bath with  _hearts and flowers,_ he nixed that idea. Dean entered the room as Castiel was setting out towels. He whistled. “You could fit three of my bathrooms in here,” he said, running his hand over the marble countertop.

Before Dean could go down the road of the have and have-nots, Castiel took his hand and stepped into the tub. Dean followed and sucked in his breath when the hot water touched his skin. “Hot.”

“Hush, it’s a bath,” Castiel admonished and sank down into the water. Dean followed suit and rubbed his slick legs against Castiel’s. “Relax and enjoy.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but leaned back and sank further into the scented water. “Smells kind of good.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s bubble bath made for men.”

“That’s a thing?” Dean asked, swirling the bubbles around in the water.

“It’s a thing.” 

“Cool.” Castiel could almost see the tension leaving Dean’s body. He placed his hands on Dean’s feet and began to massage them. “Dude, I’ll give you forever to stop that.” Castiel laughed softly. He watched as Dean’s eyelids drooped. Other than after an orgasm, this was the most relaxed Castiel had ever seen him. Dean wasn’t the type of man who indulged himself. Too much indulgence made for spoiled brats, but all souls needed to feel loved and pampered. “ _I’m going to make you feel loved, Dean Winchester_ ,” he silently vowed to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few days will be really busy for me and I won't have time to write much, if at all. I hope you understand. I've already got the next chapter outlined, so once I have the time to sit at my keyboard, I'll be able to bang it out. (No pun intended)


	14. Chapter 14

Dean woke slowly and stretched. As he opened his eyes and blinked against the morning sun streaming through the window, he had that moment of confusion of not knowing where he was. He turned to his left and saw the top of Cas’ dark mop of hair sticking up from under the white comforter. Carefully, he got out of bed and crossed the thick carpet to the bathroom. His expression softened when he saw the tub. Who would have thought a bubble bath could be that awesome. He peed, flushed, and washed his hands, taking another second to splash water on his face to wake himself up. Scratching his bare belly, he decided to brush his teeth. No one liked morning breath. He grinned through the foam. He still owed Cas for the awesome blowjob.  

Cas hadn’t moved, so Dean crawled in beside him and pulled down the covers, slowly baring more and more skin. He brushed soft kisses over Cas’ neck and over his shoulder. He still smelled of the bubble bath, kind of woodsy. Moving further down, he licked Cas’ nipple and watched it harden before turning his attention to the trail of dark hairs running from his navel to his bush. Cas’ flaccid cock lay nestled in the thick curls and Dean paused to look at it. Even soft, it was impressive. He was cut like Dean. He traced a fingertip down the length, enjoying the velvety smoothness. Dean’s eyes took in his muscular thighs. All that running paid off.  

A hand came to rest on the back of his head, lightly massaging his scalp. “Good morning.” 

Dean turned to smile up at him. “Morning, Sunshine.” 

“Time’s it?” Cas’ voice was even deeper than usual. How was that possible?  

Lifting himself up on all fours, he reached for his phone and woke it up. “Seven-twenty.” 

He grunted and pulled Dean over to him, knocking him off balance, so he splayed across Cas’ chest. Taking a page from Cas’ book, Dean looked into those pretty blue eyes and said, “I want you to fuck me.”  

Cas groaned softly and ran his hands down Dean’s back to the cheeks of his ass. Dean figured that probably meant Cas was on board with his suggestion, so he pressed a kiss to Cas’ mouth. Cas rolled them over and jumped out of bed. Perplexed, Dean sat up. “Teeth,” came the short explanation. Dean fell back on the bed and chuckled.  

“Way to kill the mood, Cas.”  

Cas turned at the door to the bathroom. “Morning breath kills the mood faster.” And then he disappeared. Dean couldn’t help but smile. Besides, it was nice to see Cas’ naked ass. He really hoped running with Cas would make his look that perky. 

When he returned, he went straight for his suitcase and pulled out a cloth bag. He dumped the contents on the bed beside Dean. Spread out before him was a bottle of lube, a box of condoms, and a natural shaped vibrator. He looked up and met Cas’ eyes. “You were feeling lucky, huh?” 

“Not really, hence the vibrator. The condoms were a last minute,  _wishful thinking_  item.”  

Dean picked up the toy and turned it on. It hummed in his hand. “Looks like fun.” Dean had been in a few relationships and had a long list of one-nighters, so he’d played around with vibrators and dildos before, but he didn’t own one and never used one for masturbating. The thought of Cas laying in this bed pushing it into his body made Dean’s cock harden. Cas noticed and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Dean’s flank. “Would you have thought of me?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back. It sounded needy and pathetic.  

“You’ve been the star of my fantasies for a while now, Dean,” Cas said softly and gently took the vibrator out of his hands. He switched it off and set it on the nightstand. Why did Cas have to say shit like that. It made Dean feel things he shouldn’t be feeling. 

Because he was Dean and talking led to chick flick moments, he grabbed the lube and rolled to his back. He wanted to lay there and have Cas do ridiculous things to his body. Snapping open the cap with his thumb, he squeezed a dollop of the gel onto his fingers and spread his legs. Cas was staring down at him, his eyes on Dean’s hand. Dean wasn’t an exhibitionist, but he loved watching men get ready for his cock and figured Cas would enjoy it too. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, he brushed his forefinger over his entrance.  

Cas sank down onto the bed, staying on his knees, not taking his eyes off Dean’s little show. Dean knew what he could take and plunged his finger inside. Since Cas was occupied with what was happening down below, Dean could watch Cas unobserved. His face was flushed and his breathing was speeding up. His cock was filling and lengthening. He absentmindedly cupped his balls and gave them a squeeze. Dean smiled.  

He worked his finger in and out a few times, keeping Cas mesmerized. Slowly, Dean ran his hand over his own hard length before moving up to his stomach. Cas swallowed audibly and sank down on his haunches. He stroked his cock slowly.  

Dean pushed in another finger and arched his back, moaning softly, not because it hurt, but because he wanted to show off. Cas’ lips parted. Was the man even blinking? Dean thrust in and out, relaxing around the intrusion, all the while letting his other hand drift up to one of his nipples. Cas’ eyes darted back and forth, then up to Dean’s face. Dean winked. He couldn’t help it. 

“Brat,” Cas whispered, snaking his hand out to snag Dean’s wrist, pulling it away from his chest and into Cas’ hot, wet mouth. He sucked Dean’s fingers, his blue eyes locked on Dean’s.  

During this brief moment, Dean had stopped moving. Without taking his eyes off Dean’s, Cas reached between his legs, cupping the back of Dean’s hand. “Don’t stop.” 

The sensation of his own fingers opening up his body, coupled with Cas’ mouth sucking his fingers, made Dean’s cock throb. A steady stream of precum pooled on his belly. He added a third and spread them, stretching himself. He needed Cas’ cock inside of him.  

Cas was licking between Dean’s fingers now and it was getting hard for Dean to concentrate. He’d been the one to start this little game, but Cas was going to finish it... or finish Dean.  

Ready, Dean pulled out and wiped his hand on the sheets. Cas lifted an eyebrow but kept doing that thing with his mouth. _The fucker_.  

“Get over here,” he mumbled, tugging his fingers out of Cas’ mouth. Cas obliged by positioning himself between Dean’s thighs. He put his hands under Dean’s knees and pressed them back towards his chest, leaving Dean on display, wet and open, ready for Cas’ cock. Dean grabbed a condom and got up on his elbows to roll it down Cas’ shaft. He got more lube on his hand and stroked Cas, getting him slick. When he was done, he dropped his head back to the pillow. “Fuck me,” he murmured and closed his eyes as Cas pushed inside. 

He eased in, an inch at a time. Dean breathed in and out, enjoying the burn and anticipating the pleasure to come. When Cas was fully pressed against the back of Dean’s thighs, he stilled, waiting for a sign that Dean was ready. He blew out a breath and opened his eyes, staring up into Cas’ face. God damn, he was gorgeous. He raised his arms and rested his hands on Cas’ forearms. “Come on, babe.” 

Instead of moving his hips, Cas leaned down and brought his lips to Dean’s. He kissed him softly. Once. Twice. Then he lifted his face. He watched Dean intently as he pulled out and pushed back in. Dean felt the irrational need to lighten the mood because this was feeling too close to  _making love_. Dean Winchester didn’t make love, he fucked. Something was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. Cas looked too good above him. The moment was _too good_  to ruin. 

In and out. Cas’ hips moved slowly. The friction and drag against his rim was bordering on painful, but in that good way. The way that was making Dean ache. He released one of Cas’ arms from his grasp and lowered it to his cock. Cas’ eyes tracked the movement before coming back up to Dean’s face. “I want to see you fall apart, Dean.”  

“Cas,” Dean wanted to tell him to shut up and stop saying shit like that, but again, the words wouldn’t come. He tightened his hand around his shaft and began moving in the rhythm Cas set. Cas started thrusting harder...  faster... and Dean brought his hips up to meet each one, grunting as he felt the head of Cas’ cock against his prostate. “There,” he moaned. “Right there.” 

Dean didn’t know where his body ended, and Cas’ began. They moved as one, faster and faster. The skin between them slick with their combined sweat making a slapping sound. “Yeah... God... so good...” Dean rambled on and on as the familiar coil of heat swirled in his belly, fighting for release. His hand stroked up and down his cock, chasing his orgasm. It was too much... too much. He cried out, his body seizing, as he fell over the edge. 

“Dean...” Cas pounded into him. For the first time since they started, he appeared out of control. His eyes were wild, his breathing harsh, his hips a blur as he fucked into Dean mercilessly. Dean watched, and suddenly the thought of not having Cas in his life was unfathomable.  _I love him_ , he thought at the exact moment Cas hips slammed into him for the last time. Dean’s sensitive body felt his throbbing cock as Cas emptied into him. 

For the first time in his adult life, Castiel didn’t want to come. He wanted this moment to last forever. He didn’t want the real world to rush back in. Easing himself out of Dean’s tight body, he took in a lungful of air and released it before rolling to the side. His hand reached for Dean, entwining their fingers together. “Guess we missed breakfast,” Dean whispered. 

“Probably.” He rubbed his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. He allowed himself a few seconds of imagining waking up like this for the rest of his life. They’d be heading back to Washington tomorrow and this blissful time with Dean would end. He wondered if Dean would revert back to treating him like a friend. “We should get up,” he said, hating the sound of his clipped tone.  

“Sure.” Dean’s tone told him he’d noticed. They both got out of bed and Dean began to slide his leg into a pair of jeans, sans underwear. 

“I thought we’d shower.” 

“Yeah... I’ll just go to my room,” Dean said, his eyes downcast. Damn it. He’d ruined everything because of his stupid insecurities. 

“No. Please. I’m sorry.” 

Dean finished pulling on his jeans before answering. “For what?” 

“This morning... with you... was perfect and then I realized we would be going back home tomorrow. I let my insecurities get the better of me.” Dean nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Still nude, Castiel sat next to him. “I don’t want to go back to the way it was between us.” 

“Cas, we can’t be like you and Mick. Dinners out... shit...” he ran his hands through his hair and Castiel recognized that as one of Dean’s signature signs of frustration. “We can’t do the normal couple thing. I’m not ashamed of who I am or what we are, but we have to keep this... secret.” 

Ah, there it was. The crux of it. Castiel hated the word ‘normal’. “If I have to keep this a secret to have you like this...” He paused, ran his palm down Dean’s bare back, and continued, “then so be it.” 

Dean nodded and leaned against him. “Guess we should put in an appearance with your family, huh?” 

Castiel stood and tugged Dean to his feet. “Will you shower with me?” Right now, he’d take each and every stolen moment. 

“Course,” Dean said and leaned in to kiss Castiel softly on the mouth.  

While the shower heated, Castiel checked his phone. It was after ten. He was surprised his mother didn’t send Anna up to bang on his door. “Checking to make sure the country is surviving without you?” Dean asked from the doorway. He was still in his jeans, but they were unzipped and riding low on his hips. 

Castiel shook his head. “When I’m with family, Meg knows not to intrude unless something really big happens. President Moseley is at the helm, so I think we’re in good hands.” 

The shower itself was uneventful. If you’d call getting to touch Dean’s water-slick skin as much as he wanted uneventful. It wasn’t sexual. If Castiel had to describe it, he’d use sensual.  

When they were clean, Castiel opened the bedroom door to see if the coast was clear. He nodded, and Dean made a beeline for his room, the towel around his waist parting enough that Castiel got a nice view of his thigh. Dean’s room door was open and he disappeared inside, shutting it behind him. 

Downstairs, the family and the two agents were out on the patio enjoying the nice morning. All eyes turned to him and he stopped. “Sleep well?” Anna’s expression was smug and Agent Harvelle stifled a laugh. 

“Very well,” Castiel said, sitting down by his mother.  

She leaned over and stage whispered, “Sweetheart, if discretion was your intent, your agent shouldn’t have left his door open. It was obvious he didn’t sleep in his room.” 

Castiel let his eyes roam over the others until he found the other two agents. “Discretion  _is_ our intent. Understood?” 

Both Harvelle and Henrickson nodded and said, “Yes, Sir.” How Dean was going to keep the rest his detail from noticing, he had no idea. 

Dean showed up a few minutes later and Castiel was relieved that no one mentioned their sleeping arrangements. The rest of the day was enjoyable and that night several family friends joined them for dinner. Not even his formidable mother could talk Dean and his agents into acting as guests. The three of them were suited up and standing on the outskirts of the party. Castiel wanted Dean seated beside him as he equal. It was something he’d have to work on. 

That night, they walked upstairs, and Dean went to his room to grab the rest of his toiletries. He was back in seconds. At the doorway, he pointed to his neatly packed bag sitting on the bench at the foot of Castiel’s bed. “Someone packed up my stuff.” 

“I’d lay odds on either Anna or my mom,” Castiel, going for nonchalance.  

“How...” 

“My mother knows everything,” he said dryly, not wanting Dean to know everyone in the house knew where he spent the night. Dean frowned but got ready for bed without another word. Both felt the morning’s trip home looming between them and the sex was different. Not bad, but not like the lazy love making of the morning. Castiel’s sleep was fitful and he found himself awake in the predawn hours, simply watching Dean.  

 

Leaving Cas’ family was harder than he thought possible. In just a few short days, he’d been well fed, teased mercilessly by Cas’ sister, and hugged within an inch of his life. It made the helicopter ride back to DC tolerable. With the two Marines sitting at the controls, he couldn’t take Cas’ hand, but he felt his presence and it calmed him.  

Back in the heavy capital city traffic, Dean returned to special agent mode. His eyes were constantly checking the mirrors to see if any vehicle was following or looking suspicious. He purposefully took the front seat because Cas could be a distraction he couldn’t afford. He still didn’t know how they were going to do this. Cas was under constant guard from Dean’s own men and cameras recorded anyone coming and going from the residence. Giving up Cas once he’d had a taste of him wasn’t something Dean could do. He wasn’t that strong. 

At the residence, he used the ploy of taking Cas’ bag to walk him inside. The door closed, and they were in each other’s arms. Dean thought he could go on kissing Cas forever, but he was the one who finally stepped away. “See you in the morning.” 

“Can’t you...” 

“No,” Dean said softly, and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He smiled and added, “I’ll be here in time to run with you, Sunshine.” He winked jovially and walked away before he was tempted to stay. 

All the way home, he strategized about how they were going to make this work. It seemed impossible. He had Jo and Vic on his side and he trusted them with his life, but the rest of his team were still strangers. How was he going to have any time with Cas?  

The  _how_ proved to be as impossible as he feared. They had stolen kisses in the mornings after their run and behind closed doors in Cas’ office, under the pretext of security meetings. Nights were the hardest. He was running out of reasons to work overtime. His nightshift supervisor was starting to question him every time he suggested working late to catch up on the Vice President’s schedule changes.  

Days turned into a week and their nightly phone calls, while steamy, didn’t come close to scratching his itch. Cas was just as frustrated, and it showed in the way he spoke to his staff. Dean was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of some of Cas’ scathing remarks. After he jumped down his Chief of Staff’s throat about a cancelled meeting, Balthazar left the office, the slamming door resounding down the hall, causing everyone to look up.  

Dean nodded to Vic and quietly opened the door. He pushed it shut and approached Cas’ desk. He didn’t look up, but snarled, “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” 

“Well, tough.” Cas raised his head and Dean loved how his face softened. “Cas, babe, you’ve got to stop taking shit out on your staff. You’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.” 

Cas rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled. “I know. I don’t mean... Christ, why can’t we just tell the world about us? What does it matter, Dean? I don’t care who knows. I just don’t care.” Cas’ tirade ended as he stood and presented Dean with his back as he looked out the window. Dean barely heard the next words. “I miss you.” 

He closed his eyes. He knew falling for Cas would be a mistake. Before he could reply, Meg burst in. “Billie finished the speech for Friday, but she’s fucking afraid to enter the lion’s den,” she rattled on until she saw Dean standing there. “Oh, hello, handsome. Could you give me and the boss man a few minutes to chat about grown up stuff?” 

“Meg.” Cas’ tone made his press secretary narrow her eyes. To Dean, he said, “Agent, I will be leaving early tonight. Say around four. Could you make sure my car is ready?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Dean backed out of the room. When he returned to Vic, he opened his phone. Meg mentioned a speech on Friday. Had that been on the calendar? He found the entry. Cas was set to speak at the Change of Command ceremony at the Navy Yard. He found the notation. This event was added this morning. Why hadn’t anyone told him before now? “Fuckers.” This had Meg’s name all over it. “Call Jo and have her come up to take my place. I’ve got to pull a security plan out of my ass.” 

Dean knocked on Balthazar’s door since his secretary was away from her desk. He was told to enter, and he stepped inside. The Chief of Staff looked up. “Yes?” 

“I was just made aware of C-- the Vice President’s speech on Friday at the Naval Yard. I need details to pull this together.” 

The man frowned and clicked his mouse a few times. “Ah, yes, our illustrious Meg has been busy. Let me see...” He hummed as his eyes skimmed his screen. “Change of Command...aboard the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower...yada, yada, yada. What do you need to know, Agent Winchester?” 

“Aboard the Eisenhower?” Okay, the ceremony would be on the deck of the aircraft carrier which meant Cas would be out in the open. “Thank you, that’s all I needed.” He had some calls and plans to make. 

The trip to the Naval Yard was quiet. Cas sat in the back seat and read over his speech. Dean watched the traffic. They were waved through the main gate and after parking, Dean gathered his team for another briefing. He’d visited the ship the day before and knew where he was placing his men. It didn’t stop him from being nervous. He rolled his shoulders. The straps from his Kevlar vest were biting into him. He wished Cas would agree to wear one, but he’d have to settle for the bullet resistant suit Cas was wearing today. 

They escorted Cas up the gangway and stood by while he was greeted by all the dudes in the white uniforms. Any other time, Dean would be scoping out the men, but today Cas was his focus. He lifted his wrist and one by one, his team checked in. He saw Michael up on flight control. The agent was already scanning the area with binoculars. His men were scattered over the deck. Jo was on the other side of Cas as he made his way past the hundreds of men and women waiting to hear the Vice President’s speech. 

Dean and Jo took their places behind the row of officers, both scanning the crowd of civilians. The ship’s brass took care of the military members and it was Dean’s job to take care of the rest. Cas greeted the Navy personnel and called special attention to the career of the commander leaving. Dean tried to listen, but he wasn’t one for politics. He did notice how the wind blew Cas’ hair in all different directions. He loved Cas’ hair.  _Fuck_. Did he really think that? If this was love, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his man card. 

Cas wrapped up his talk and answered the officers’ salutes with one of his own. He shook a few hands and then Dean herded him off the ship. “Good talk, Mr. Vice President,” Dean said.  Cas laughed. 

“You didn’t listen to a word, did you?” On the other side of him, Jo snickered. 

“I did. You talked about ships and Navy stuff,” Dean lied and grinned when Cas rolled his eyes.  

Inside the SUVs speeding back toward Cas’ office, Dean let himself relax. Cas was safe. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family and work got in my way and I'm behind in my writing. I wrote sex so you would be more likely to forgive me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is racist and homophobic matter in this chapter. I went for realism, but y'all know how I feel about those that believe this shit.

Having tasted Dean and not been able to barely touch him in the week since they’d left his parents’ house was driving Castiel mad. Stolen kisses in the mornings and evenings before Dean left for home weren’t enough. Not nearly enough.

It took some careful planning on their part, but Saturday, Benny was off and Dean had come up with a story for his men that he needed to go over the house’s security system. He said an Agent Bradbury gave him a hard time about it and thought she should be included in the ‘talks’. Dean said he handled it though. 

While he waited, he paced the entire first floor of the house, even going into rooms he never used. He’d contemplated running another bath, but didn’t want Dean to think that was his only idea of romance. Soft music played over the house’s sound system and beer was chilling in a cooler by the pool. It was nearing the end of the season and the maintenance people would be here soon to winterize it. 

Honestly, he wanted to grab Dean as soon as he walked in the door and take him on the carpet, but he didn’t want this ‘date’ to be all about sex. Though sex was definitely on the agenda. 

He was back in the kitchen when he heard the powerful engine come to a stop. Castiel thought it would be best for Dean to park in the staff’s lot and not draw attention, but he’d been assured that hiding in plain sight was the way to go.

Castiel opened the door as Dean raised a fist to knock. Both of them grinned at each other. Suddenly, Castiel was giddy. He yanked Dean inside and wrapped his arms around him. “Missed you,” he whispered softly.

“You see me almost every day,” was Dean’s reply, spoken against the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

“Let me rephrase then. I want you.”

“I’m all yours.” Dean leaned back, his hands still on Castiel’s waist. “What’s with the shorts? Not that I’m complaining.” Dean was staring down at Castiel’s swim trunks. They wouldn’t be on long, but for the sake of decency, he decided to wear something.

“I thought we’d go for a swim, have a few beers, and relax.”

“I didn’t bring my bathing suit,” Dean responded, pulling Castiel closer. “I thought we’d head right up to your room. I’m fucking horny, babe.” To emphasize his statement, he took Castiel’s hand and brought it to his erection. Castiel took a few moments to rub his palm over Dean’s arousal. 

“We have all night,” Castiel replied, already loosening Dean’s tie. He made short work of it and tossed it on floor. It was soon joined by Dean’s suit jacket, shirt, and belt. Dean wore a smile as Castiel stripped him in the foyer. 

When he was naked, he nodded toward the stairs. “Can I borrow a pair of trunks?”

Castiel shook his head, grinned, and pushed his pants down until they puddled on the floor. “You won’t need them.”

He led Dean through the house and out the back door. The pool was dark, but the moon was bright enough they wouldn’t run into anything. It was warm as was the norm for early September, but there was a nice breeze blowing. He watched Dean take in the cooler of beer and the stack of towels. With a shrug in Castiel’s direction, Dean stepped to the edge of the pool and dived in. Castiel waited until he surfaced. Dean wiped the water from his face and grinned. “Feel good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. Castiel smiled, grabbed two beers, and set them on the edge of the pool. He performed his own clean dive into the cool water. When he came up, Dean was in front of him. He gave him a quick kiss and swam away. Dean gave chase, but Castiel was fast, having swam on his college team. Playing dirty, Dean finally grabbed his ankle and pulled him down. He sputtered and then retaliated by dunking Dean. He couldn’t remember when he’d had this much fun.

They continued to play and swim until Castiel realized his skin was beyond wrinkled. “Let’s go in.”

Dean nodded his agreement and swam to the side of the pool. Castiel stopped to admire the view as he pulled himself up and out. Dean turned and rolled his eyes. “You were staring at my ass.”

“Guilty.” Castiel waded over to the steps and climbed out. He barely caught the towel Dean tossed him. He dried off, all the while surreptitiously watching Dean. His movements were efficient and brisk, though not particularly graceful, he had an elegance of his own. 

Castiel moved closer just as Dean was knotting the towel at his waist. He nuzzled Dean’s neck and whispered. “I want you so much.” Dean lifted his head, exposing more of his throat for Castiel. He inhaled the scent of chlorine, beer, and some residual aftershave. His lips moved over Dean’s skin, as his hands came up to pinch his nipples. He loved the soft gasp of pleasure he drew from Dean. He rolled the nubs between his forefingers and thumbs and he felt Dean’s erection pressing against his hip. He longed to feel it inside of him. 

“Cas...” Dean whimpered, his own hands resting on Castiel’s towel-clad ass. He lifted his head to see Dean’s face. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted.  _So beautiful_.

Without a word, Castiel took one of Dean’s hands in his and led him inside. As they passed through the kitchen, Dean giggled. Surprised, he turned to see what was so funny. Dean was grinning. “We’re running around naked in Vice President’s residence, dude.”

Eyes twinkling, Castiel chuckled. “Technically, we are wearing towels...”

“Kind of dirty, huh?” He got a mischievous look on his face and took the lead, dragging Castiel into the formal living room. “Wonder if any of your predecessors got head in here?”

“Dean,” Castiel warned, but allowed himself to be pulled along. Before he knew it, he was sprawled on the couch. Dean knelt between his knees and the little shit winked at him. He opened Castiel’s towel and lowered his head. The hot, wet heat engulfed Castiel’s cock and he sank into the cushions, content to watch. Dean could easily get a job in the porn industry because the man definitely knew what he was doing. While he sucked Castiel, he pressed his thumb into his perineum and massaged it. The outer stimulation on his prostate was driving him closer and closer to the edge. Not content to be passive anymore, Castiel curled his fist into Dean’s short hair. With his other hand, he palmed his balls. They were tight and he gave them a squeeze. “Dean.” His lover’s name was said like a prayer. Dean’s green eyes looked up at him and that’s all it took. His orgasm wrung the breath out of him. He couldn’t look away as Dean swallowed his load. When he was done, he released Castiel’s shaft and sat up, looking smug. 

He couldn’t speak, so he motioned for Dean to join him on the couch. When he could breathe again, he peeled back Dean’s towel. His cock was hard and lay against his thigh. Castiel ran a fingertip down the length of it as they kissed. The taste of his cum on Dean’s tongue  awakened his desire for the other man. He wished he were younger. He let his hand move down Dean’s belly, then lower still until his fingers were wrapped around his shaft. He ended the kiss with a sharp nip to Dean’s lower lip. Dean inhaled sharply, but Castiel wasn’t done. He lowered his head and took one of Dean’s nipples into his mouth, sucking hard before applying his teeth. Dean hissed and his hands clutched at the cushion under them.

His whine turned into a long, drawn out moan as Castiel’s hand moved up and down his length. Castiel loved the velvety smoothness of his cock. The head was dark and precum beaded at the slit. He rubbed his thumb over it, using Dean’s arousal as a lubricant. He continued to suck and tease Dean’s nipple and his lover’s sounds spurred him on. Dean began to thrust his hips up, fucking Castiel’s fist, his breath harsh. _Faster_. Dean’s hand suddenly gripped a handful of Castiel’s hair, yanking him up, his kiss searing in its intensity. Dean gave a strangled cry and Castiel felt hot cum on his hand. He smiled as he pulled away to look into Dean’s face. “I --” he stopped himself. “I enjoyed that.”

Dean relaxed the hold he had on Castiel’s hair and ran his fingers through it, as if petting him. Castiel settled in, bringing one of his legs up to curl over Dean’s. They were silent for a time. Castiel was content to lay here, listening to Dean’s heartbeat. 

Dean was as relaxed as he could be lying sprawled on the fancy couch in the residence at One Observatory Circle, naked, holding Cas. His fingers played distractedly in the man’s dark unruly hair. Dean’s eyes were closed, but he was awake and alert. So, when Castiel shifted next to him, he hummed in protest, tightening his hold. 

“I thought we’d go to bed.” And just like that, Dean’s world imploded. 

“Cas, I need to leave soon.” He didn’t want to think about climbing into Cas’ big bed and sleeping side by side. Those days in Chicago at his parents’ house... it was a wonderful put distant memory now. This was the capitol, where journalists were everywhere waiting for the wrong word to be said, the wrong move to be videoed, and the wrong person to be exploited. Beside him, Cas stiffened. Dean hurried to difuse the situation. “Babe, you knew from the start I couldn’t stay tonight. There are too many eyes out there.” He waved at the set of thick drapes covering the huge window. 

“I know.” Cas’ voice sounded resigned, but he stood and wrapped his towel around his waist again. Dean did the same.

Tonight had been great. The playful side of Cas in the pool... the sexy as fuck man who’d he’d blown... the Vice President who he was falling hard for. Now, the reality of their situation was at hand. Dean gathered his clothing from the foyer and dressed in the living room. Cas stood by his piano, watching silently. He stuffed his tie into the pocket of his jacket and strode confidently over to Cas. He pulled him close, resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder. “I don’t want to go.” He hoped those words would convey what he wanted Cas to know.

He felt Cas nod and he was hugged tighter. They stayed like that for a long time, both deep in thought. Cas huffed out a soft breath and smiled. “Call when you get home or I’ll worry.”

“I will.” With one last kiss, Dean walked out the door before he did the unthinkable . 

Instead of driving straight home, he found himself in Sam’s Georgetown neighborhood. The house was dark and Dean woke his phone to see the time. “Damn.” It was after eleven. Sam and Eileen would already be in bed. It was just a side effect of having a child. 

By the time he awoke the next morning, the need to confess his feelings to his brother were gone. Both glad and sorry it was his day off, he gathered laundry and cleaned house. He wanted to call Cas, but he needed space. How did this happen? How did he fall for him so fuckin’ fast and so fuckin’ hard? And why did life have to be so damn complicated? How many times had he asked himself that very question since he met Cas?

Radio silence between the two men lasted until dinnertime. By that time, Dean felt like he was wearing his skin inside out. His nerves were shot. Cas was rethinking things. He knew it. Cas deserved a boyfriend and lover who could be there for him, not one that had to steal away after sex like it was dirty. When his phone finally rang and he saw Cas’ private number on the screen, his heart began to pound in his chest. Was this it? Would Cas tell him thanks but no thanks?

“Heya, Cas.” He went for casual. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

A few seconds ticked by and then both talked at once. “I miss...” Started Cas. 

“I’m sorry...” 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“For having to leave. For having to sneak around.” Dean didn’t want to acknowledge Cas’ fragment of a sentence. Did Cas really miss him? Because he sure as fuck missed Cas.

“Dean... I knew what the score was when I decided to pursue this. You’ve been nothing but honest.”

“You sayin’ you chased me, Cas?” Dean smiled into the phone, his muscles loosening for the first time since he woke.

“Don’t make me regret catching you,” Cas said and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. They were okay. 

Monday brought the rain and the temperatures dropped to the mid-seventies during the night. Dean met his team in at the Shack and he read over the reports from those that worked the weekend. He briefed everyone on the upcoming schedule and promised to send out any amendments once he met with the Angel. He caught a few snickers in the back of the room, but he wasn’t concerned. It was early and the night shift was probably punch drunk. He released everyone and the day shift prepared to get Cas to the White House. He was meeting with President Moseley first thing.

Vic stopped him at the door of the Tahoe. “Dean, there are some rumors.” 

“Yeah, about what?” Dean’s was checking his earpiece, not really paying attention. He was eager to see Cas. They wouldn’t run this morning, so he would have a leisurely breakfast with him and go over Cas’ week. After that, he’d get the VP to work right on time.

“You and Novak.” Dean hand froze on the handle of the door. 

“What kind of rumors?”

“Ones involving you and the Vice President taking a nude swim.” Dean leaned against the SUV. He glanced around, but Jo was keeping the team busy with a perimeter check. He pursed his lips and met Vic’s gaze. 

“There aren’t any cameras in the pool area,” he stated, his mind not wanting to comprehend that his own men were spying on him.

“No, but Finn and Brothers were on patrol and heard laughter. They knew you were meeting with Novak, so they thought some kids had gotten past security. They retreated as soon as they saw...” he let his words die. Dean dropped his eyes to the ground. He needed to polish his shoes. He’d forgotten to do that over the weekend.

“Okay.” What else could Dean say? 

“Look, they came to me. They’re good men and...”

“You said rumors, Vic. Who did they tell? Does the whole fuckin’ team know?”

“I shouldn’t have used the word  _rumor_. They came to me,” he repeated. “No one else knows, but Dean, you can’t keep this a secret. Jesus, man, it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught on camera. If the press finds out...” Vic looked as frustrated as Dean was feeling. “Why keep it hidden? It’s not like either of you are in the closet. He’s openly gay and you’re...” Once again, he paused.

“Bi,” Dean provided.

“Bi. All I’m saying is that no one would give a shit.”

Dean straightened. “Really, Vic? You think no one would give a fuck? Let me educate you. There are still a fuckton of assholes out there who think Cas is a sinner... a faggot... someone who doesn’t deserve happiness.”

“You love him.” Dean blinked at him, stunned into silence. “You are more worried about him then yourself or your career.”

“So...” 

Dean’s earpiece crackled and Jo’s voice came on. “Boss, we’re going to be late.” 

He looked at his watch. “Fuck.” He nodded to Vic. “I’ve got to do some damage control. Would you and Jo go see the Angel and tell him that our morning meeting ran long and I would like any schedule changes emailed? We will leave for the White House on time, but I won’t be able to talk to him before then.”

“Ten-four.” Vic didn’t question him, but he knew his partner heard the call for all team members to return to the Shack. The night shift probably hadn’t made it home yet.

Fifteen minutes later, he was looking at the faces of the men and women who made up his entire detail. Finn and Brothers sat in the back. Were they the ones that laughed earlier? Vic seemed to trust them though.

“We are sworn to protect Castiel Novak,” he started, having everyone’s attention. “I’m going to ask you, today, to take that a step further.” He saw the look of concern and confusion in the eyes of the team. This was  _his_  team. He took a deep breath and continued, “Vice President Novak is seeing someone. Some of you already know who it is and I want to thank you for keeping it to yourself.” He met Finn and Brothers’ stare head on. It was important they know he trusted them. “For the rest of you... the Vice President and I are...”

“Called it,” shouted Charlie and then she hung her head, her face as red as her hair. “Sorry, Sir.”

A buzz swept the room, but it wasn’t angry or condemning. “The Vice President and I are  _dating_. If you have any concerns or questions, I’d like to address them now.”

Finn stood and Dean’s entire body tensed. “Guess the night shift will be seeing more of your sorry ass then, huh, Sir?” Finn was fighting a grin and the knot between Dean’s shoulders loosened as the room burst into laughter.

“Only if you want to, Agent Finn.” There was more laughter.

Charlie met his eyes after the room quieted. “We got your back, Dean.” She turned to her fellow agents. “I think what the boss is asking is that this stays within the grounds of the residence.”

“Yeah, Charlie.” He also addressed the room. “I don’t want our relationship to hurt Ca – the Vice President. If you’re approached by anyone, you send them to Miss Masters.” He’d have to talk to her and Cas today. He dreaded it.

Dean sat in the backseat with him on the ride to the White House. He knew as soon as Dean buckled his seatbelt something was wrong. He’d believed Vic when he said the morning meeting had run long, but Dean’s demeanor made him expect the worst. Once they reached the main road, Dean made sure the intercom was off and the partition between the driver was completely closed.

“Two of my men saw us in the pool Saturday night.” It was happening again. That cursed pool. First with Mick, now Dean. This was it then. The conversation where Dean told Castiel it was over. He laid his palms on his thighs to keep them from trembling. “But don’t worry, they weren’t spying. They heard us laughing and since they knew I was in a meeting with you, they assumed some kids had snuck onto the property. I talked to my team this morning and I know not one of them will leak this to the press. I think we need to speak to Meg to make sure she’s not blindsided if someone is nosy enough to figure it out, but as long as we are discreet...”

“You want to keep seeing me?” Castiel was confused. Wasn’t Dean going to break up with him?

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t?” 

“Of course, I do, Dean. I -- I enjoy your company and want to see where this goes.” Now would not be the time to confess his feelings. He knew the agent would still be spooked by being found out by his men. Baby steps. He pulled himself together and said, “I will arrange a meeting for you and I to meet with Meg today.”

As they pulled through the gates allowing them entrance into the White House enclosure, Dean huffed loudly. “Is there something else?” 

“You  _enjoy_ my company? What kind of shit is that, Cas?”

“Do you want it to be more?” Castiel countered. He wasn’t going to confess his feelings like he had in the past only to have them thrown back in his face. 

“Yeah... I guess. I mean you don’t have to declare your undying... whatever, but I’m kind of hoping things were past the  _getting to know_ _you_  stage.”

The Tahoe stopped and Vic opened Castiel’s door. He turned to Dean and smiled. “I think that’s a given, Dean.”

Later that day, Castiel called Meg into his office and then he opened his door and motioned Dean inside. Meg gave them both a questioning look, especially after Dean sat down and made himself comfortable. Castiel saw the exact moment his press secretary understood. “Well, well, well...” She sat down on the edge of his desk, her skirt hiking up to show her thigh. Dean didn’t even look at it. She gave Castiel a knowing look. “You hooked yourself a live one this time. He’s got more moxie than Mick... not that Mick was a slouch.”

“I didn’t call you in here to discuss Mick. Dean has something to discuss with the both of us. Dean...”

Castiel listened as Dean matter-of-factly told Meg about the events, leaving out key events of their evening together. He told her about speaking to his team and trusting their silence. Then he shared his his wishes for their relationship to remain private. “That’s where you come in. I don’t want Cas’ name to be linked with mine.” Castiel winced at that and Dean shook his head. “You know what I mean, Cas. This is best for both of us.”

Meg had listened without speaking, which was an all-time first for her. When Dean sat back, arms crossed, she finally spoke. “Let me paint a picture here, Dean-o. Castiel Novak is America’s sweetheart. At least for the most part. You’re always going to have the assholes out there. Joe Public will see this...” She wagged her finger back and forth between them. “as a fairy tale. Picture An Officer and a Gentleman. I’m not seeing what you’re so worried about. Mick didn’t like living in a fishbowl, but you already do, Winchester. You are by his side everywhere he goes. I’m not saying you hold hands and kiss his pretty mouth in public... he is the VP after all, but...”

“No,” Dean exclaimed, standing. “Not happening.”  _God, he was pigheaded_ , thought Castiel.

Over the next week, Dean spent more time at the residence since he was not hiding from his team anymore. They shared evening meals and Benny could not have been happier to cook for two. He outdid himself. Once he found out that Dean loved pies, they seemed to appear nightly. Castiel was glad he loved to run, otherwise he’d be unable to fit into his suits.

The GLAA, a volunteer, non-partisan, non-profit political organization that defended the civil rights of the LGBT community in DC, was gearing up for their annual fund-raising event and Castiel had been invited to be their keynote speaker. He was excited about the opportunity and his speech was coming together.  

Dean was sitting on the bed watching Castiel knot his bowtie. “And then Charlie starts ragging on Jo about her choice of men...” 

Castiel turned away from the mirror and faced Dean, causing the man to stop talking. “Do I look presentable?”

“You look hot, babe,” Dean said, standing and coming closer. He ran his fingers under the lapels of Castiel’s jacket. “I cannot wait to take this off of you later.”

“You’re staying?” Dean had yet to spend the night at the residence. 

“I thought about it,” Dean said, not meeting his eyes. Instead, his gaze was on their hands. Castiel had brought his up to cover Dean’s. Dean’s hands were larger, rougher, while Castiel’s were longer, more elegant. Castiel bent his head to the side and slotted his mouth over Dean’s. The kiss held promise. 

_H_ _e ran his hands over t_ _he cool metal of the AR-15._ _Tonight, that faggot was going to pay_ _. He and that black bitch were a d_ _isgrace to America. It was bad enough, they’d had to endure_ _that towel-headed Obama. Fucking Muslim. Everyone kne_ _w he wasn’t born in the US. Trump said so._

_He’d spent the last two days studying the building._ _He’d bribed one of the caterers to give him a unifo_ _rm. Yes, he’d be_ _e_ _n_ _able to walk around and find the best p_ _lace to_ _hide the gun until he needed it._

_The secret service_ _would be crawling all over the place, but he knew how they worked. He’d wait_ _until the bastard was at the podium. He’d wait until_ _that fucking qu_ _eer was smiling and telling all those other abominations how he was going to_ _make their lives better. He laughed,_ _a dark sound that would send chills up a normal person’s spine. But no one could accuse him of being_ _normal._


	16. Chapter 16

Portable metal detectors had been brought in and people were already lining up to attend the GLAA fundraiser. The streets were filled with rainbow flags and people excited to catch a glimpse of Cas. They wouldn’t get the chance. As the Tahoe slid to a smooth stop at the rear of the building, Dean gave Cas one more kiss. “Break a leg, Babe,” he whispered before stepping out. Half of his team were already set up outside, while some of the others were inside. The catering staff and the event planners were still setting up when Dean, Vic, and Jo led Cas into the ballroom. 

A woman Dean didn’t recognize from his initial meeting with the staff came forward, holding out her hand. Her body language was off. She was smiling, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She shook Cas’ hand coolly and if Dean was a betting man, he’d lay money that she wasn’t a fan of the Vice President’s. Weird, since he was a member of the very group of people she claimed to represent.

“Good morning, Vice President Novak. My name is Abby Huffman, acting chair for this event.”

“Acting chair? Is Sarah okay?” Cas seemed concerned and Dean's brain immediately went back to the file he’d reviewed several times. Sarah Blake was the chairperson. Who was this Abby person and why wasn’t she in the file? He’d remember her striking looks. The red hair looked like it came out of a bottle and her skin was like porcelain. 

“Sarah was in a car accident earlier this week, but she’s fine.” Dean narrowed his eyes. Why hadn’t he been told? He stepped forward before Cas could speak.

“Miss Huffman, why wasn’t my staff informed of Ms. Blake’s accident? I met with her and the rest of her committee on Tuesday. 

Cold eyes turned to him. “Sarah’s accident happened Tuesday night on her way home.  _And_  as for informing your staff, well, I was assured it had been done.” Her gaze shifted back to Cas like he was gum under her shoe. “Now, Vice President Novak, if you’ll follow me, I have a private room set up for you until it’s time for your speech.”

Cas was frowning at Dean, but it softened to a smile as he moved to follow her. Dean hung back, pulling out his phone. He called Charlie. “Hey, give me anything you can find on an Abby Huffman. She’s a member of GLAA.”

“Ten-four, boss. Give me five.” Dean hung up and made his way in the direction Cas and his partners went. Before he turned the corner into a narrow hallway, he took one last look at the stage where Cas would stand, and then his eyes touched on the entire room. Round tables, decked out in white cloths, were set up on the richly carpeted floor. The caterers, dressed in white dress shirts and black ties, scurried around setting up their stations. His team, stationed at all entrances and exits, weren’t hard to spot. 

He raised his wrist to his mouth. “Look alive, I’ve suddenly got a bad feeling.” Each member of his team responded, making him feel somewhat better. His stomach was churning. Something didn’t feel right.

Dean found the room they’d stashed Cas in and entered without knocking. The red-haired bitch wasn’t present. “Dean, can we talk?” Dean nodded for Vic and Jo to leave them. They wouldn’t go far. 

When the door closed, Cas moved closer. “What was that all about? You were rude to Miss Huffman. GLAA is extremely personal to me and I won’t have you...”

“Do you trust me?” Dean interrupted. Cas frowned, his head tilting just so.

“Of course.”

“My gut is telling me something isn’t kosher. I want to postpone your speech.”

“I can’t do that, Dean,” Cas said softly, shaking his head. Dean had known the answer before he’d even spoke. Cas was nothing if not loyal to things he was passionate about.

He was going to argue, but his phone rang. Charlie. “Hey, what do you have?”

“Abby, short for Abaddon Huffman, age thirty-five. Began volunteering for GLAA only three weeks ago. Single. Resides in Georgetown. You need the address?”

“Not yet. Go on.”

“She doesn’t have a record, but Dean, she was linked to a white supremacy group about ten years back. Not actively in the last few years though.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Keep digging. Any red flags show up, call immediately.”

“Got it, Dean.” 

He hung up and Dean faced Cas again. “Huffman was linked to a white supremacy group.”

“Was?” Dean knew Cas would catch that. He didn’t have enough on her to stop Cas’ speech.

“Was. Ten years ago. But, Cas, people don’t fuckin’ change.”

“I don’t believe that.” He moved forward, cupping Dean’s jaw with his warm palm. “It will be fine. Relax.” Dean closed his eyes as Cas’ mouth lowered to his. 

“They’re letting people in now,” came the tinny voice in his earpiece. He released the hold he had on Cas and backed away. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Ten-four. Eyes and ears alert, people.” To Cas, he said, “You’ve got about thirty minutes.” Cas’ meal was delivered a few minutes later. He would not be eating the catered food. Dean left him to eat. Vic and Jo remained stationed by the door. “I’m going to walk around.”

He entered the main ballroom and noted it was filling fast. At a thousand dollars a plate, the attendees were made up of Washington politicians, the city’s celebrities, journalists, and the wealthy individuals who were part of the LGBT community or were supporters. The money made was earmarked to assist with legal fees for those discriminated against. 

Dean spotted Huffman talking to one of the caterers, a bearded guy with horn-rimmed glasses. He politely excused himself as he made his way through the throng of people finding their seats, but by the time he got to them, she was alone, typing something into her phone. She pursed her lips when he appeared beside her. “May I help you?”

“Just checking in,  _Miss_  Huffman. Everything going okay?”

“It is. Excuse me.” She moved off and Dean couldn’t help but admire the way her ass filled out her tight skirt. She was a bitch and he didn’t trust her, but she was a looker. He’d have to give her that. 

Dean stood to the left of the stage and watched as the city’s rich and famous ate their meals. There was a low hum of voices, but Dean didn’t see anything out of place. He couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom though.

All too soon, it was time for Cas to take the podium. Dean did a final check with his team and made his way back down the hall. “It’s time,” he told Vic and Jo. He rapped his knuckles on the door and opened it. Cas was seated on the couch reading through his speech. Dean knew the man had memorized it. “It’s time,” he repeated for Cas’ benefit.

Cas stood and straightened his tie. He smiled at Dean. “Everything will be fine. I’m looking forward to tonight.” Dean grinned.

Dean was spending the night again. And since neither had to work the next day, they planned on staying in bed all morning. His toothbrush was already hanging in Cas’ bathroom. With his team knowing and respecting their relationship, things had been easier. Dean still resisted going public, but things were good. Real good.

Cas took the podium to a standing ovation. Dean stood to his left and back a few steps. Vic was on his right. Jo was positioned at the foot of the steps leading up onto the stage itself. 

Once everyone was seated again, Cas smiled. “Thank you for coming out today to support the Gay and Lesbian Activists Alliance. I’m proud to be here with you today.”

Dean’s eyes scanned the room. His eyes met each of his team and he got a nod in return. At the caterer’s set-up, Dean paused. Wasn’t Finn supposed to be at the door that led back into the kitchen area? Dean lifted his wrist and whispered, “Finn, report.”

Silence. All the agents in the room went on alert. Dean saw them all reach casually into their jackets. Vic had taken one step forward, his own hand near his shoulder holster. Jo had moved to the front of the stage, casually, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

 Dean’s gaze landed on Huffman. She was seated at one of the tables near the front, her long legs crossed. She met his eyes and the look on her face was almost  _triumphant_. Dean’s blood ran cold. That’s when he heard the word ‘gun’ in his earpiece. Without thinking, he leapt forward just as the loud popping from a semi-automatic rifle started a rapid-fire array. He shoved Cas to the ground. He took a hit to his back, the Kevlar stopping the bullet, but fuck it hurt. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

He heard more gunfire and screams. Scared blue eyes looked up at him. “Dean... Dean...”

“Are you...” God, it hurt. “okay?”

“I’m fine. Dean, you’ve...” 

“Shhhh,” Dean whispered. He’d felt the wetness dripping down his side. The pain was intense. Dean knew he’d been hit twice. The one at mid-back had been stopped, but the one lower, at kidney level had found its mark. 

“Dean...” Cas’ eyes were so beautiful...

_Abby had smoothed the way for him. It was easy to find his old girlfriend and put her to use. She was a great actress and she was willing to do anything for him. He smiled coldly. She would die today too._

_All these people were standing and cheering for the faggot. They would rot in hell. He would make sure of it, but first, he had one more thing to do._

_He adjusted his glasses. The disguise was good. No one on his former team had even paid him any mind. Finn had been standing right next to him at one point and didn’t notice. Finn had to go. Quietly. The knife slid easily between the man’s ribs. His bo_ _dy_ _was_ _qui_ _ckly pulled behind the table and then kicked underneath, the white covering hiding it from view._

_Then he watched and waited for his moment of glory. He saw the exact_ _moment_ _Winchester_ _,_ _his_ _replacement_ _, noticed Finn was missing. He should have taken Finn’s earpiece to listen in. But it was too late now. The team was alerted. It was time._

_He lifted the heavy rifle and took aim. The first spray took out Abby and a few others. Had he hit Novak? Winchester had moved fast, but was he fast enough? He had to know._

_Moving forward, he continued to shoot. Taking out anything that moved. He wanted the screaming to stop._

_“Trenton?” He turned, gun poised to fire again, but a bullet torn into his chest. He looked down at the red stain just as another one hit him in the shoulder. He dropped the gun. No. He reached for the pistol tucked into his pants. The next shot brought him to his knees. The AR-15 was right there... He heard the unmistakable pop, pop, pop of a Glock unloading. His body jerked once, twice, and then he was still. Did he fail?_

Castiel took the podium with confidence. This wasn’t like the campaign trail. These people thought like he did. They wanted the world to be a better place for everyone, no matter who you loved, what you believed in, or the color of your skin. “Thank you for coming out today to support the Gay and Lesbian Activists Alliance. I’m proud to be here with you today.” 

He looked out at the smiling faces, seeing many that he knew. He was waiting for the polite clapping to stop after his greeting before delivering his prepared speech. His hand reached to adjust the mic and then all hell broke loose. He heard screams and what sounded like gunfire. 

The wind was knocked out of him as Dean landed on top of him, after driving him down to the floor. 

“Dean... Dean...” 

“Are you... okay?”  Dean’s face was pale and he tried to move, but Dean’s body held him down. That’s when he felt the warm wetness on his leg. Had he been hit? Had Dean? No, not him, there was no pain, just the pressure of Dean’s weight. He reached down and brought his hand up over Dean’s back. It was red. No, God, no.

“I’m fine. Dean, you’ve...”  

“Shhhh.” Dean’s breathing was shallow, but he gave Castiel as smile. 

“Dean...” Castiel screamed. “Someone... help him. Please.” Then Jo was there. She carefully rolled Dean off him.

“Sir, are you okay? Were you hit?” Her hands went to his thigh where Dean’s blood had left a stain.

“No,” he roared. “Dean... Dean was shot. Call an ambulance.” He sat up and bent over Dean’s face, holding it, not caring that one of his hands was covered in Dean’s blood.  _Dean’s blood_. “Dean, it’s going to be okay. Hang on. Help’s coming. Help’s coming...” Dean’s eyes were closed and his breathing sounded labored.  He screamed at Jo, “Where is the fucking ambulance?” 

The agent was trying to pull him away from Dean. He fought her, lashing out. She grunted when his fist made contact with the side of her face. He wasn’t sorry. Not now. Victor appeared, kneeling between him and Dean. Why were they trying to keep him away? He froze. Was Dean dead? Were they trying to shield him? He turned his eyes to Jo. A red bloom was spreading on her cheek. “I’m...”

She took his hands in hers. “He’s alive. We’re going to get him to the hospital. You’ve got to calm down, Sir. As soon as he’s loaded, we will take you back to the residence.”

“No. I’m not leaving him.” Then something else seeped into his shattered mind. “The shooter?” His eyes darted around and he’d wished he hadn’t looked. Several bodies littered the floor. Red splotches stained the once stark white tablecloths. “God...”

“The shooter is down.”

After that, things moved so fast that Castiel couldn’t register everything. His thoughts were on Dean. He’d watched the paramedics work over him. He was vaguely aware of people crying, shouts, and a huge police presence. When they moved Dean to the stretcher and lifted it, Castiel stood on weak legs. Jo, who’d stayed by his side, stood with him. “They’re going to take care of him, Sir. You need to come with us.” He shook his head. He was going with Dean.

Dean was in surgery for hours. Castiel was sequestered in a private and heavily guarded waiting room. Chief Singer was seated across from him, but seemed to understand that Castiel wasn’t in the mood for talking. 

There was a burst of activity in the hall and Singer stood. Agent Ketch threw the door open and President Moseley stepped into the room. She looked formidable. She came right to him. “I came as soon as I heard, Castiel.” So, she was here as his friend and not as the nation’s leader. 

“He’s in surgery.” It was all he could think of to say. Ketch, standing beside her looked shaken. Oh. Castiel looked up at him. “I’m sorry...”

Ketch blinked and nodded. Without a thought to protocol, Ketch sank to the floor, his face buried in his hands. Castiel understood. Dean had told him that it was the other agent who’d professed his love. Dean felt guilty about it. Did he still love Dean? How could he not? Dean was everything. He rested a hand on the agent’s shoulder. Missouri sat on his other side. They waited.

Castiel’s phone rang and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. The man he loved was in a cold, sterile room somewhere in this hospital fighting for his life.  _Nothing_  was more important than that. When he rang again not a minute later, it was Missouri who took it from his hands.

“Senator Novak... yes, it’s Missouri. Nothing yet. Okay. I’ll tell him.” She hung up and set the phone on the chair beside her. “Castiel, your parents are on their way.”

Castiel nodded. He knew his parents would have seen the news.

“It’s funny... They didn’t ask about you. But then, the press would have said that you were fine. They did seem concerned about Agent Winchester.” At this, Ketch looked up, as did Chief Singer. The President continued conversationally. “They said to tell you that they were praying for  _Dean_  and they’d be here soon.” Castiel heard the inflection in her voice when she’d said Dean’s name. His eyes met Ketch’s. Dean said he knew about them.

“Dean and I... are seeing each other.” Missouri inclined her head, a brow lifted, but she didn’t speak. “Dean didn’t want anyone to know.” Castiel sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “He was afraid of what it would do to my career.”

“You are well loved. I would think a love story would work in your favor,” she said softly.

“Dean is a stubborn son of a bitch,” Ketch blurted out. “He thinks he’s not good enough. God, he’s a dumbass.” He leapt to his feet and began to pace.

“He’s right,” Castiel whispered. “He thinks he’s not good enough.”

Missouri huffed. “Well, Agent Ketch is correct. He’s a dumbass.” Castiel couldn’t stop the bark of laughter at her words. “When he comes out of this, the media is going to have a field day. You should get your press secretary to release a statement.”

“I have to obey Dean’s wishes.” Suddenly, Castiel was so damn tired. He leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest on the wall behind him.

“Oh, Hon, the sharks are circling. Didn’t you think the media would wonder why the Vice President rode in the ambulance, after making a scene, I might add, with one of his secret service detail? Rumors are already flying. It’s best to tell the truth.”

“I...” 

The door opened again, this time Sam Winchester, followed by a pretty brunette, came in. “We got here as soon as we heard. What’s happening? How is he? Please tell me something?” Castiel stood and walked to Dean’s brother, holding out his arms and the tall man stepped into them. “Tell me,” he whispered in Castiel’s ear.

Castiel took a deep breath, released it, and stepped back to face Sam. “He’s still in surgery. They informed us that the first bullet hit him in the middle of his back. The body armor kept it from doing much damage. It did bruise his spine though. The second one entered at an angle at the edge of the vest, projecting upwards...” Here he had to pause. The doctors had sounded so clinical. They were talking about the man he loved. He inhaled and finished. “It... it damaged his large intestine and his kidney before lodging in his spleen.” 

“God... Okay...” Sam seemed to pull himself together. 

The brunette stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Eileen Winchester.”

“It is nice to meet you. Dean thinks the world of you,” Castiel said, picking up on her speech and making sure he was looking directly at her when he spoke. Had Dean told him Sam’s wife was deaf? He couldn’t remember.  _He couldn’t remember anything_ _right now_.

When the clock on the wall read four o’clock, a man in scrubs walked in. Blood stained the pale blue cloth and Castiel was fixated on it. “Agent Winchester lost a lot of blood. We’ve had to remove his spleen. The damage to his intestines and kidney were minimal considering the trajectory and caliber of the bullet. We are closing him up now, but considering...” he looked directly at Castiel. “I just thought you’d like to know he’ll be in recovery soon.” If he noticed the President standing behind Castiel, he didn’t let it show. With a nod to the room at large, he left them alone again.

“What now?” Sam asked.

“He’ll be in recovery for a while. I would suggest the President and the Vice President be escorted back to their residences...”  Chief Singer said, already on his feet.

“I’m not leaving,” Castiel said angrily. Why was everyone trying to keep him from Dean?

“Castiel, your parents should be here soon. I will contact your press secretary and have her come.” When Castiel opened his mouth to argue with her, she raised her hand. “No, you listen to me, boy. You need something to occupy your time. She can take the helm and make a statement, but you’ve got to tell her what to say.”

Castiel could only nod. He knew Missouri was right. Their carefully guarded secret was out. Dean would have to deal with it. Dean was going to be fine. The doctor’s words finally registered and his knees buckled. Sam and Ketch were the ones that caught him, lowering him to a chair.


	17. Chapter 17

Darkness had settled over the city. Castiel’s parents had arrived and joined him and Sam in the waiting room. Despite the late hour, Meg, Chief Singer, and Victor walked in, looking solemn. Castiel knew he had to devote his attention on what they had to say. “Is this a private conversation, or can my parents and Dean’s brother sit in?” 

Meg shrugged and Chief Singer looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he motioned for Victor to start. The agent pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began to read. 

“The shooter has been identified as Cole Trenton.” Castiel felt a cold fist grip his heart. Victor paused to let him digest the information. “He had an accomplice by the name of Abaddon Huffman. Huffman and Trenton met at a local white power rally and we have information they began seeing each other then. She infiltrated the GLAA about three weeks ago. Sarah Blake was interviewed this afternoon and she told investigators that Huffman made herself out to be a lesbian with a law background. When Sarah was in her accident, which is now under scrutiny as well, Huffman volunteered to chair the event. By all accounts, she did a good job. Trenton, under the ruse of being undercover with the secret service, borrowed a uniform and blended in with the catering staff. His disguise was good enough that none of his former team spotted him.” With that, Castiel saw guilt on the agent’s face. 

“Victor, you couldn’t have known,” Castiel said softly. 

Victor took a deep breath and continued going over all the details of Trenton’s plot to assassinate him. Throughout, Senator and Chuck Novak remained stoic, but Castiel caught the telltale signs of stress around his mother’s eyes. When Victor finally closed the notebook, Singer spoke. “Trenton used an AF-15, bought legally at a gun show in Tennessee. He fired over a hundred rounds before being stopped. He took ten bullets himself and was pronounced dead at the scene. Huffman, along with nineteen others died as well. Fifteen others were hospitalized with gunshot wounds, but are expected to recover.” 

Castiel sank to his chair again. Twenty-one people dead, fifteen... sixteen including Dean were wounded. To Meg, he said, “I need to make a statement and then I need to call the family members of the deceased.” He’d personally visit those in the hospital. His mind began to race. What does one say to a person who just lost a loved one to violent crime? Nothing in his life had prepared him for this. 

“Vice President Novak, before you make a statement, we should go over a few things, but first, you should see what the networks are saying.” Meg went over to the television mounted on the wall. Up until now, it had been left off.  

“... _Cooper, reporting for CNN. This morning, at a Gay and Lesbian Activists Alliance fundraiser, a former secret service agent opened fire, killing twenty and injuring sixteen before he, himself, was shot by agents. One of the injured, the head of Vice President Novak’s security detail, Dean Winchester, is said to be critical condition at George Washington University Hospital. The Vice President was seen getting into the ambulance with Agent Winchester, and witnesses say he has not left the hospital._..” 

Meg flipped channels. 

“... _there is speculation as to the relationship between the Vice President and Agent Winchester. There have been several witnesses that state Vice President Novak rode in the ambulance with the agent...”_ A picture of Dean standing next to him at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival was suddenly on the screen. _“Rumor has it that the two men are in a secret relationship. As of yet, there is no word coming from the White House. The agent underwent surgery at_   _George Washington University Hospital and is said to be in critical condition. An insider told this reporter that the Vice President has not left the hospital and is being kept company by his parents, Senator Naomi Novak and famous writer, Chuck Novak...”_  

Meg found another station. 

“... _yes. That is correct. Senator Novak and her husband, writer, Chuck Novak, flew in to be with their son, Vice President Novak, at the bedside of Agent Dean Winchester...”_ This reporter was standing in front of the hospital’s emergency entrance. _“...Is this a reenactment of Hollywood’s The Bodyguard? Did the Vice President fall for the man who took an oath to protect him at all costs? Seems like a real_ _-_ _life fairy tale to me. Back to the studio_...”  

Castiel had enough and Meg must have sensed it because the screen went black. The second hand on the wall clock was incredibly loud to his ears. Everyone remained silent. His mother clasped his hand, the first to speak. “Castiel, you will have to make a statement.” 

“And say what, mother? Tell the world I love him before I can tell him myself?” He yanked his hand away, dragging fingers through his hair, and began to pace. 

“You love him? So, what they’re saying is true?” Sam asked, his face pale. “I just thought... he said you were friends. I suspected... but... wow.” 

“He didn’t want anyone to know,” Castiel said softly, silently begging Sam to be okay with it. The rumors would only get worse and Sam’s family would be open to media attention. This affected everyone in this room. His eyes swept over the people gathered with him. Other than Chief Singer, he felt close to everyone here. 

“Let me guess,” Sam said with a frown. “He thinks he’s not good enough for you.” 

“Your brother is stubborn,” Castiel replied. 

Sam laughed. “That is an understatement, Sir.”  

“Castiel... you can call me Castiel, or Cas, as your brother is fond of...” He stopped as another wave of emotion washed over him. He’d almost lost Dean. He looked down at his hand. Earlier, he’d gone to the men’s room and scrubbed Dean’s blood off of his skin, using scalding water and the harsh soap favored by hospitals. He’d washed them over and over again until they were raw and painful. 

It wasn’t just Dean’s blood on his hands though, was it? All those people were killed because a man hated him. Hated him enough to risk dying for his cause. Those victims died and Castiel felt like he was partly to blame. To Meg, he said, “Call Billie and have her meet me here in the morning. I will be making my statement then.” He knew Billie would work through the night if she had to. Meg would be with her, of that, he was sure. 

Meg, in a rare moment of compassion, touched his arm. “I know this will fall on deaf ears, but you do need to get some sleep tonight.” He gave her a half smile. She rolled her eyes and left, followed by Chief Singer and Victor.  

“Why did the news care more about your relationship with my brother than those that died?” Sam’s question was met with silence for several long seconds. 

He was finally answered by Senator Novak. “Because shootings are the norm. Things like this happen weekly all across this nation. As long as the NRA’s lackeys control the majority of the House and Senate, it will continue. People dying aren’t news anymore. A gay Vice President and his romance with a secret service agent are more newsworthy.”  

“That’s not right.” 

“No, and it’s people like my wife and my son who are trying to make a difference,” said Chuck, clasping his wife’s hand. 

The door opened and a nurse entered. “Agent Winchester has been moved to ICU. Family will be allowed to visit for a short time. I can take you up now, if you’d like.” 

 _Family_. Castiel wasn’t family. He could make an ass of himself and use his title to get in to see Dean, but he wasn’t like that. He would have to wait until Dean was in a room.  

Sam stood up and after a moment’s hesitation, took Castiel’s arm, and pulled him to his feet. “I’m his brother and this is his partner. We are both going to see him.” Castiel gave Sam a look he hoped would convey his gratitude. The nurse looked like she wanted to argue, but Castiel lifted his chin and gave her his best steely look.  

“That’s fine. Follow me.”  

“Apparently, you being the Vice President didn’t impress her,” Sam whispered. 

“Guess not. Maybe I should up my game.”  

“President Novak has a nice ring to it,” Sam said, chuckling softly. Castiel gave him a side look that had Sam laughing. It was a nice sound to hear.  

ICU was a quiet place. The nurse led them to a glass enclosed room and there lay Dean. Castiel stared at the man in the bed. He was pale and a ventilator breathed for him. The tubes and machines made Castiel’s usually strong stomach roll. The surgeon was in with him and when the nurse opened the door, he turned to greet them. 

“Agent Winchester is a lucky man. Though the bullet nicked the large intestine, we don’t think there is cause for alarm. He’s on a strong antibiotic to prevent sepsis and we’ll be monitoring his vitals. The kidney is fine, but the spleen was severely damaged and like I said, it had to be removed. If all goes well, he will be coming off the ventilator in the early morning. Right now, he could probably breathe on his own, but we want to give his body time to recover. He is under heavy sedation and we will begin weaning him off that in the morning as well. Do you have any questions for me?” 

“How will having his spleen removed affect his health?” Sam asked, stepping closer to the bed. Castiel was still frozen in the doorway. 

“This was why I used the term lucky with Agent Winchester. Only ten percent of the population has something called an accessory spleen. In some cases, this tissue will retain the function of the spleen and filter the red blood cells. When we examined it, it does appear that this might be the case with Agent Winchester. Obviously, we will have to wait and see. Once he is fully recovered, we will do a series of tests, but the chances are good.” 

“What is his prognosis?” Castiel asked, finally finding his voice. 

“He will make a full recovery, Mr. Vice President. Unless something unforeseen happens, he will be released in about a week. He’ll have to take it easy for about six to eight weeks. He’ll stay on antibiotics during the first month as a precaution, but otherwise, he will be able to lead a normal life.” 

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly, moving to the side so the doctor could exit. 

Sam stood on the left, looking down at his brother. Castiel slowly walked to Dean’s right. His paleness made his freckles stand out more than usual. He had the sudden urge to stay all night to count them, as one counted stars in the night sky. 

“You really love him.” It wasn’t a question and Castiel didn’t treat it as one. He nodded and touched Dean’s hand with his fingertip. “And you haven’t told him yet?” 

“No. I wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it.” 

“I get that. Dean can be... well, Dean.”  

Castiel laughed, soft and low. “That is an apt description.” He turned away from Dean to focus on the monitor showing Dean’s vital signs. “He will awaken to a media circus.” 

“He’ll be fine. 

He looked at Sam. “Will he?” 

“If this is about the gay thing, you gotta know that Dean doesn’t care about labels. He’s not going to bring it up in conversation with strangers on a plane, but he isn’t ashamed about who he chooses to be with.” 

“I’m more concerned with how he will deal with his named linked to mine.”   

 

 _Dean woke. Pain. Or was it? His brain was foggy. His throat hurt. With gummy feeling eyes, he blinked and tried to focus. Beep. Beep. Beep_ _. Slow and steady. He heard a groan and his addled mind somehow knew it was a sound from his own mouth_  

 _“Dean.” That low voice. He’d know it anywhere. Cas. The events from seconds before rushed by and he knew he had to save Cas. Gunshots. Was Cas hurt? His head rolled from side to side, trying desperately to clear his vision. Cas. “Dean, be still. Please. You’re okay.” Dean didn’t care about himself. It was Cas he needed to protect. It was Cas that had to be alive. An alarm sounded somewhere close and he finally saw white. White ceiling tiles. White walls. He tried to get up. He had to get to Cas._  

 _Several sets of hands held him still. It was the voice that finally calmed him. “Dean, I’m here.”_  

 

They removed the ventilator at three a.m. It was replaced by a nasal canula providing Dean with a steady stream of oxygen. Castiel knew the exact time because he was there, seated in a hard, plastic chair outside Dean’s room. Sam had gone home to get some rest. Only members of his detail remained with him, stationed at the elevator and at the desk. His parents were at the house on Observatory Circle. They would return later in the morning.   

By five, the surgeon and a handful of other scrub-clad figures arrived. They murmured amongst themselves and checked Dean’s vital signs. The surgeon stopped by Castiel on the way out. “He should be waking soon. You can go in and sit with him, if you’d like.” 

 _If you’d like?_ Castiel wouldn’t like anything else. Except maybe for yesterday to begin again. Only this time he would listen to Dean’s concerns. What had he told Dean?  _It will be fine. Relax_. God, he should have paid attention. “Thank you.”  

He waited for the nurses to leave before going into the cubicle. The blips mimicking Dean’s heartbeat calmed him somewhat. He moved forward and sat in another chair, a twin to the one in the hall. He took Dean’s hand, the one that didn’t have an IV pumping fluids into his body. The same body he’d made love to less than forty-eight hours ago. A sob threatened, but he swallowed it.  

“I love you,” he whispered, lifting Dean’s hand and brushing his lips across the knuckles. “So very much.” 

“Excuse me, Mr. Vice President. A Meg Masters said to tell you she is waiting for you downstairs in the hospital’s conference room.” 

Castiel looked at Dean, released his hand, and stood. “Could you tell me where it is, please?” 

She gave him directions and he met his detail at the elevator. He was happy to see Jo and Victor. “How is he?” Jo asked as the doors closed, sealing them inside. 

“His prognosis is good.” 

“When will we be able to see him?” She asked anxiously. It was then he realized Dean had others that cared about him. He’d allowed himself to imagine it was just the two of them throughout the night.  

He gave her a reassuring smile. “I believe he will be moved to a room this afternoon. I will make sure he is allowed visitors.” He was rewarded with a sunny smile.  

Meg and Billie sat at one end of a long table. The agents stayed outside and closed the door behind him. He took a seat between them at the head. “I’ve set up a press conference from here at ten o’clock. I assumed you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon,” Meg said with a knowing smirk. “Billie was up half the night writing your speech. I’ve read it and it sounds good.” 

“That means you’ll be changing at least fifty percent of it,” Billie said with a wry smile. She slid a folder across the table and he opened it. After reading through it once, he frowned, then read it a second time. He held out his hand and Billie slapped a red pen into his palm. It took him thirty minutes to get the words right. Billie took the edited speech and left. He assumed she would procure an office somewhere in the hospital to retype and print it.  

Meg clasped her hands on the table and lifted a brow. “Do you want me to tell you what I think?” 

“You always do,” he met her determined eyes with his own. If he wasn’t the Vice President, he and Meg could have been good friends. She didn’t take shit from him. She was funny and loyal. As it stood, she was in his inner sanctum. He trusted her. In Washington, that was as important as breathing. 

“You’ve always been honest. People expect that of you. Your agent might not like it, but you’ve got to come clean that you’ve been seeing each other.” He started to speak, but she held up her hands. “Let me finish...” He nodded. “Your private life stopped the day you took office. You know that,  _however_ , the world doesn’t need to know your deepest secrets. You don’t have to tell them you love the man. I suggest we keep it casual. We did that with Mick and the press got bored after a while. Hollywood has a new scandal every day. They’ll hound you for a week or so, then move on. If Agent Winchester is serious about you, he’ll deal with it. If not, fuck him. Mick was a hot motherfucker and probably good in the sack, but he couldn’t hang with the big dogs. Winchester...” she shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “Winchester has balls. Hell, he took a bullet for you. His balls are fucking huge.” 

He ignored her crass language. He was used to it. “That’s your professional opinion?” 

“It is.”  

He stood up. “Done.” He left her and hurried back to ICU. Dean would be waking soon. 

By seven, he was getting antsy. Dean had woken briefly. He was disoriented and combative. The nurse said it was normal.  

When the clock struck nine, he began to pace. His speech had been delivered and he’d made a few more red lines, using his talk with Meg to guide him. He didn’t want to leave Dean, but he’d have to go downstairs soon. Sam arrived and by now, the staff knew better than to expect Castiel to follow the rules. Both men stayed in the room watching Dean breathe. Castiel filled him in on the night’s events. 

Victor poked his head inside at nine-thirty. “Sir, it’s time.” 

He leaned down and kissed Dean’s forehead. He looked at Sam. “If he wakes...” 

“I’ll be here and I’ll tell him you’ll be back soon.” Castiel nodded sharply and followed Victor out. 

 

Dean was awake, but he didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t feel as numb as before. The pain was a dull throb in his lower back. He’d been shot. Cas was okay. That’s all that mattered.  

“...him you’ll be back soon.” That was Sam’s voice. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and saw his brother.  

“Sa... Sam.” Sam stood, the chair scraping the floor.  

“Dean. How do you feel? God, what a stupid question. Sorry. It’s just... fuck... I’m glad you’re awake, man. Do you need me to get the nurse? Are you in pain?” 

“I need you to shut up,” Dean mumbled, turning his head and looking around the room. Where was Cas? He’d heard his voice earlier. Had he dreamed it?  

“Guess you’re fine,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes. “I should get the nurse.” He walked out before Dean could respond. Dean looked around the small cubicle. The machines and gadgets looked like something out of NASA. Or Charlie’s nerd space at The Shack. How bad was he? To be sure, he wiggled his toes. He grinned. So, not paralyzed. The dick probably still worked.  

Two nurses bustled in. One was a pretty brunette and the other looked like the lady from the movie  _Misery_.  Dean remained silent as they took his vitals and punched buttons on the diagnostic machinery surrounding him. The Kathy Bates clone smiled at him. “We are all glad you’re awake, Agent Winchester. Doctor Carlson will be in soon to talk to you.” The brunette didn’t even look at him. Damn, he was losing his touch.  

Sam had been leaning against the wall while the nurses worked, but sidled closer when the left. “Seriously, how are you feeling?” 

“Back hurts,” he said, looking up at the IV bag. “Expected though, Kevlar will stop a bullet, but they don’t tell you it hurts like a motherfucker.” Sam glanced away and Dean got a weird feeling. “Sam, what aren’t you telling me?” His could feel his toes, so there wasn’t that much damage... 

“You took two hits, Dean. One in the vest and one caught you as you were diving to the floor with Castiel.”  _Not the Vice President, but_ _Castiel_. Interesting. “They had to take out your spleen.” 

“I’m not sure what a spleen even does, so I guess it isn’t a big deal. Could have been worse.” He wanted to ask about Cas, but didn’t know how. 

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester. We’re glad to have you back with us.” The doctor was a middle-aged, balding dude. Dean listened intently as he explained the severity of Dean’s injuries, his blood loss, and how he was  _damn lucky_  to be alive. “You’ve caused quite a stir in the news. With that kind of clout, we’re moving you to a private room this morning. They’ll be in shortly to move you.” He smiled and patted Dean’s leg like he was a freakin’ golden retriever.  

“I need to talk to my team, Sam. I need to know what happened. Did they get the shooter? Is my team okay? Is... is Vice President Novak okay?” 

“Dean... a lot of people were killed. He used an AR-15 and took out... he shot so many...”  

“Cas?”  

“Castiel is fine. He’s been here the whole time. He wouldn’t leave. He was here all night long.” All night? Dean held back a smile. “He’s downstairs now, doing a press conference.” 

“What?” Dean glanced around, looking impatiently for a television. “Why doesn’t this room have a fucking TV?” He tried to sit up and the pain made him cry out. “Holy...” Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and he panted around the waves of nausea.  

“Dean, calm down. You aren’t supposed to move,” Sam pressed him back down. Dean clenched his fists and pounded the bed. “Shit, let me get a nurse.”  

Fuck, he felt out of touch. Like the fucking world was going on around him and he was in the dark. What was happening out there? He had Sam’s view of the events, but he wasn’t law enforcement. He wasn’t given access to all the information. Tears of frustration pooled in the corners of his eyes and he dashed them away angrily. 

Several people bustled into the room and Dean was poked and prodded until he wanted to scream. He was lectured about shit and was close to losing it completely when a dark tousle of hair appeared behind the crowd. “What happened? Dean? Dean, are you okay?” Cas pushed everyone aside and then he was there. Dean wanted to be folded into his arms, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Vice President. Thank you for...” The look in Cas’ eyes stopped his words. He glanced over at Sam and his brother’s slight shake of his head told him volumes. 

“If Dean is fine, could you clear the room, please?” Cas' voice held authority and no one questioned it. Everyone but Sam filed out and Cas shut the door behind them. “Dean, we need to talk.” 

Dean went for humor. Being funny covered a multitude of sins. He shot the man a grin. “No good conversation ever starts out with  _we need to talk_.” 

He began to talk softlly, finishing the story with the press conference where he publically announced that he and Dean were seeing each other. 

“It may seem bad to you, but I’m very happy there are no more secrets. I just wish it were under different circumstances.” Castiel  told Dean what he had said in the press conference, what the media was speculating, and confirming that he and Dean were seeing each other. He’d poured out his anger and pain for those who’d died. Dean even caught the guilt behind his words. Dean’s own anger surged when he found out who the shooter was and then ebbed when Cas said he’d been killed. 

Dean sat in silence for a moment before replying. “Cas, why would you do it? Why would you publicly link yourself to me? You’re you,” he gestured toward Cas. “I’m not worth the hassle that will come from this. You should have fucking denied it. We could stop seeing each other for a while. Let this shit die.” 

Dean watched Cas take in his words and the Vice President looked like he could smite Dean then and there. “I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks besides you, Dean. Can’t you see? I am in love with you. I’m in love with you, and I thought I was going to lose you. I can’t deal with that. The thought of not... God... not seeing you every day, knowing you are not out there in the world, living and breathing and eating every kind of pie you can find. That is not something I can deal with.” Cas had stood during his little rant, pacing and tugging on his hair. At the end, he sat on the edge of Dean’s bed and gently touched Dean’s face. “Please, you have to know how much I love you.” 

Dean sat there dumbfounded. He knew he loved Cas, had known, but didn’t think he could say it out loud. There Cas was, pouring his heart out in a big declaration of love. He slowly started to smile. He placed his hand over Cas’ on his cheek.  _Cas loves me_ _. H_ _oly shit_ _, he loves me_ _._  

“Holy shit. You love me... and I love you.” Dean couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. He tugged Cas down into a kiss, still grinning.  

Sam cleared his throat and Cas looked up guiltily. Dean gave his brother a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, Sam.” He’d forgotten Sam was there.  

“No problem,” Sam said gracing them both with one of his classic bitch faces. “I guess I’ll go get some coffee or something.” 

Dean watched his brother go and then realized he was holding Cas’ hand. He pulled until Cas was seated on the edge of the bed. He sobered at the thought of all that had happened. The deaths, the injuries, and his own surgery that would leave him with limitations for the next few weeks. Cas tilted his head and his eyes held questions that Dean wasn’t sure he was prepared to answer.  _Love_. Wow. It didn’t stop the laundry list of complications though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing StellaDupree (aka Tiffany) wrote part of the last scene. I hit a wall and couldn't channel Dean. She knew exactly what I wanted to say and pumped it out. I love this woman. So, kudos to her!


	18. Chapter 18

Castiel’s parents left, the media had new stories to tell, and Dean was released from the hospital. Dean, at Castiel’s insistence, spent his convalescence leave at the house on Observatory Circle. They shared breakfasts and dinners together, and while they didn’t share a bed, their relationship strengthened. During the healing process, Dean was forced to sleep in a guest room downstairs, as the stairs proved too much for him. Castiel knew being close to Dean and not able to touch would drive them both crazy, but they endured. 

Cabin fever took hold of Dean at the one-week mark. The detail and friends were instructed by Vice Presidential order not to bring Dean’s car to the house. Castiel knew his stubborn boyfriend would attempt to drive and until his doctor cleared him, that wasn’t going to happen. They’d had a fight about it. A bad one that had Castiel stomping out of the house with his security team scrambling to keep up with the fuming man. He walked around the grounds until he cooled off enough to return. Dean was waiting in one of the chairs on the front veranda. No words were spoken. Dean followed him inside and they both apologized once they were in the privacy of his home. _Their home_. It was unofficial. Dean hadn’t agreed to move in permanently and Castiel had been afraid to bring it up. 

By mid-October, Dean was back at work doing light duty that consisted of riding with Castiel to and from work and doing paperwork. He was released to drive and to have sex. Castiel was with him when Dean asked the doctor about sex. Castiel knew he blushed, but Dean plowed right on. He moved his stuff up the stairs that same afternoon. Sharing a bed cemented their relationship further. Waking up each morning and watching Dean sleeping beside him gave him more energy to face each day.

October segued into November and still, the conversation about Dean moving back to his apartment never came up. Dean was training every day and was back to full duty, but Chief Singer wasn’t allowing Dean to head Castiel’s detail. Victor moved up into the slot and Dean was now on the President’s team. Castiel understood. Dean wasn’t nearly as accommodating. He felt like he was the only one who could protect Castiel. After a long walk and talk with Victor, Dean seemed to settle into his new role. Castiel never asked what was said between the two agents, but he was grateful. 

Sex with Dean was every fantasy he ever had rolled into one man. Any suggestion, dream, or kink was eagerly made reality. Castiel had been tentative at first, seeing the scars from both the gunshot wound and the resulting surgery made him shake so badly that Dean wound up holding him until he could breathe again. Unbeknownst to Dean, Castiel sought help with a counselor after that night. It was like survivor’s guilt, or so the doctor said. Dean was the one who snapped Castiel out of it. He’d tied Castiel to the bed and took what he needed and Castiel gave it willingly. Time and again, he gave it willingly. 

As Thanksgiving approached, Dean fell into his new role. He spent a lot of time traveling with President Moseley and Castiel missed him terribly when he was gone. They were still unofficially living together, though they had yet to discuss it. It was the Sunday before the holiday when Dean shut off the documentary they’d been watching. Castiel looked at him questioningly.

“Since you aren’t going home for Turkey Day, I thought we’d have it here... if that’s okay.” Castiel leaned back and placed his feet next to Dean’s on the coffee table... the extremely expensive antique one that probably cost as much as Dean made in a year.

“This is your home, Dean. If you want to celebrate Thanksgiving here, I’m all for it.” Castiel waited to see if Dean would comment on the part about _ho_ _me_.

“Good. So, I’ve already invited your parents, Anna and Luc, Sam and Eileen... the kids, of course...” At Castiel questioning gaze, Dean grinned and shrugged. “I figured it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

“What if I would have said no?” Dean brushed his toes across Castiel’s foot and it distracted him for a second. 

“I would have called your mom back and made her do the mom thing.”

“So, blackmail?” Castiel asked with a raised brow. It was the look that got Dean going. He loved Dean’s submissive side. 

“Maaaaaay... be.” Dean drew out the word and smiled bashfully.

“We shall talk about the dinner details later. For now, I would suggest you take your beautiful ass upstairs and get undressed.” Dean didn’t bother to argue. Castiel watched him race up the stairs. Yes... he had plans for his lover.

In their room, Dean stood, naked and beautiful, his cock already well on its way to arousal. Castiel took his time gazing at Dean’s body. His lover was uncomfortable with the attention, but his skin flushed and his nipples hardened under Castiel’s stare. “Stay there.”

Castiel went into the master bathroom and found what he was looking for. He never used this particular toy with Dean. The red dildo had been tucked in a drawer by the sink since he’d used it on himself weeks before he met Dean. He licked the suction cup and stuck it to the shower wall after determining the perfect height.

Back in the bedroom, he avoided eye contact with Dean and opened the bedside drawer to take out the silicone lube. It was the best for shower sex. “What do you have planned, Cas?” 

“Follow me,” Castiel said without answering. He knew Dean would comply. In the bathroom, he pointed to the large vanity. “Hands on the counter.” Again, Dean obeyed without hesitation. Castiel ran his hand down Dean’s back and over his flank. “God, you are so beautiful.” Dean met his eyes in the mirror and when he licked his lips, Castiel’s own cock twitched in his pants. 

He squeezed the cool gel onto his fingertips and rubbed them around to warm it before running them down the crack of Dean’s delectable ass. At his entrance, he paused, holding Dean’s gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay,” Dean replied softly, pushing his ass back to prove it. Castiel expertly worked Dean open, then looked down at his handiwork. Dean’s hole was slick, flushed a deep red, and open… ready to be fucked.

Castiel gave Dean’s ass one last caress before turning to the shower. He opened the glass door and turned on the water, rinsing his hand in the process. When steam began to billow out into the room, he said, “I want you to get into the shower.” Dean looked at him quizzically, but stepped inside. Castiel knew the exact moment Dean saw his little surprise. The tiny, almost inaudible squeak, made Castiel smile. Dean’s head spun around. Castiel raised that dominant eyebrow again.

“Kinky fucker,” Dean said, stepping further into the shower.

“But you love me…”

“Damn right.” Dean faced Castiel and watched him as he quickly stripped. His cock was hard and heavy between his legs. He moved to Dean, the hot water cascading down his back. He brushed Dean’s lips and Dean responded by bringing his hands up to cup Castiel’s face. “Love you more than anything, Babe.”

“I would never want to share you, but…” Suddenly, Castiel wondered if his kink would upset Dean. He needn’t have worried. Dean grinned.

“You want to see me get fucked… fantasize about some dude pushing into me, taking me hard and fast. You want to watch… or do you want to participate?” He let his hand move to cup Castiel’s balls and then he moved his hand up to wrap his fingers around his cock. “Maybe you want me to suck your dick…” Dean whispered against Castiel’s mouth. “Hear me moan… taking two cocks.”

“God, Dean.” Hearing Dean describing his fantasy in his husky baritone was driving him insane. “Please.”

Dean loved turning the tables on Cas. Oh, he loved it when Cas went all dom in the bedroom, but every once in a while, Dean would take control and he loved seeing how Cas fell apart.

He gave Cas another brief kiss and then reached behind him to guide the toy inside. He’d been surprised by the dildo, though he shouldn’t have been. They used toys quite a bit. Both of them were imaginative in the bedroom, but this was different. They’d talked about their past and Dean had told Cas he’d had a threesome before. Cas had gotten quiet and wanted to know if it was something he’d want again. Shit, no. He had Cas and no other man… or woman, was touching him. Dean was the jealous type.

As the head of the toy breeched his sphincter, Dean closed his eyes, relishing the stretch and the slight burn.

Cas’ hands were on his shoulder and then his back, rubbing the tension out of Dean’s muscles. Dean could tell Cas was watching the toy disappearing inside of him. Cas had a voyeuristic side to him. 

Dean’s hands were on his knees and he pushed back again until he felt the cool tiles against the cheeks of his ass. He looked up at Cas, maintaining eye contact as he licked the slit of Cas’ cock. It throbbed and a small drop of precum touched Dean’s tongue. Cas looked euphoric. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were hooded with desire. Dean curled his fingers around Cas’ shaft and opened his mouth wider to take in the flared head. He swirled and sucked, loving the sweet noises Cas was making. It was time to up the game.

He set a rhythm, fucking himself back and forth on both the dildo and Cas’ cock. He moaned like a porn star for Cas, but also because it felt so damn good. He lost himself in his lover’s fantasy. No, Cas didn’t want to share, but wasn’t that what fantasies were about? Taboos… forbidden fruit… 

Cas’ hands moved to his head, holding on, his fingers tight in Dean’s short hair. The pleasure pain sensation drove Dean closer to the edge. His cock ached, but he didn’t want to touch himself yet. He had to wait for Cas to get there. Cas was panting now, almost gasping for air. Dean straightened his legs and the dildo hit his prostate again and again. 

“Dean… Dean…” Cas reached down to squeeze his balls. Yeah, he was close now. Dean took himself in hand and began to stroke fast and hard. He felt the first spurt of cum on his tongue and hurried to swallow, just as his own orgasm hit him like a freight train. Knees too weak to remain standing, he moved his hips until the silicone dick slid out of his ass. He made it to the built-in bench and leaned against the tiles. Cas had one hand splayed on the glass door and one on the opposite wall. He looked like Dean felt. Debauched, fucked out... wobbly. 

Dean shifted over a few inches and motioned for Cas to sit beside him. He sank down. It was a tight fit, since the bench wasn’t made for two grown-ass men. The water was pounding against their legs and Dean watched it swirl down the drain. “Have fun?” He asked, leaning against Cas. Cas brushed his lips against Dean’s temple. 

“Always.” They were quiet for a moment and Dean debated standing to finish their shower, but Cas placed a restraining hand on his thigh. “Was that too much? You know I never want to share you with anyone.” The last sentence seemed more like a question and Dean turned his head to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Babe, that’s something you’ll never have to worry about. Ever.”

Instead of responding, Cas took Dean’s left hand in his and traced a line on his ring finger. Dean’s heart began to pound in his chest. Those beautiful blues met his and he couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. It was always like this with Cas. Their friends accused them of eye-fucking and maybe that’s what it was. It was like Cas could see into his soul. “Cas?”

“I love you so much, Dean. More than…” He paused like he was searching for the right words. “You proved you would die for me… and… and I feel the same way about… you.”

“I know,” Dean murmured. And he _did_ know. Dean reached up and brushed a lock of wet hair off Cas’ forehead. “I love you.” Were those words enough to tell Cas how he felt about him? He curled his left hand around Cas’. “Forever.”

Cas smiled. “Forever is a mighty long time.” 

“Come on, you sap, the water is getting cold.” Dean stood and pulled Cas to his feet. He gave him a kiss, a soft whisper against Cas’ lips. 

It wasn’t until they were in bed together a few hours later that Dean thought of Cas’ touch to his ring finger. He looked up from his iPad, pausing his game of Mahjong. Cas was settled against the headboard, reading glasses perched on his nose, frowning at some report. “You ever think about getting married some day?” He tried to sound casual, but inside his heart was hammering. 

Without looking up, Cas asked, “Are you proposing?” He, too, was going for casual, but Dean saw the way his hands tightened on the papers, wrinkling them. 

“Hey... if I was going to propose, I’d go for romance, dude,” He said, keeping his voice light and teasing. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat. Was he really doing this? Talking about marriage... to the fucking Vice President of the United States? 

“Romance is overrated.” Cas set the papers on the nightstand and leaned over to open the drawer. When he sat up again, he was holding a black ring box. Dean’s poor heart seemed to stop. Cas met his eyes. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need flowery words. I just need you… forever.”

He opened the box and Dean stared at the simple titanium ring. It was a good thing Cas didn’t need flowery words, because Dean couldn’t even remember his own name. Cas had bought a ring. Cas wanted to marry him.

“It’s customary to give an answer when someone offers you a ring.” Cas didn’t sound sure of himself anymore. Did the stupid man think Dean would say no?

Dean reached for the ring. He held it between his fingers for a few seconds, liking the weight of it. Loving what it represented. Then he pushed it onto his finger. “Yes.”

Cas grinned and he looked so relieved that Dean laughed. It was a giddy laugh that he’d deny until the day he died. “On one condition,” Dean added. “We don’t make this a media event. We tell the family first and you rein in Meg. I don’t want a fucking circus.”

“No fucking circuses. Got it,” Cas said with a solemn nod. 

**Epilogue**

“Mr. Vice President, since you turned down the nomination for the Presidential race in 2020, what are your plans when you leave the White House?” April D. Ryan, the Washington bureau chief for American Urban Radio, asked from her seat five rows back from Castiel. 

“Well, April, I’ve discussed this with my husband and he thinks I should run for governor of the great state of Illinois.” The buzz grew loud. He knew his husband was watching from Castiel’s office down the hall. They’d already talked about his answer. 

The White House press corps continued to fire questions at him, but eventually Meg stepped up to the microphone and announced that Castiel had a dinner engagement to get to. Most of the journalists smiled as he waved and made his way to the side door. 

Victor and Jo swung in behind him and followed him down the hall. He was greeted warmly by the staff. They all seemed to know tonight was special. His detail peeled off as he opened the door. Dean was on the floor, a brightly colored blanket was beside him and their infant son was on his tummy, head up and arms flailing. Dean glanced up briefly, but went back to looking down at Jackson Samuel Winchester-Novak. At six months, he was changing just about every day and neither of them wanted to miss anything. Beside Dean was the legal sized envelope that held the final paperwork making Jack theirs. Castiel strode to his desk and pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket. “Hey, don’t open it yet,” Dean chastised. 

“I thought we’d have a private toast before everyone got here.”

“Nope. We’re celebrating privately when we get home… after we put this little munchkin to bed.” 

Castiel nestled the bottle back into the ice and kneeled down next to their son. Their son. “He’s ours,” he whispered reverently. 

Dean touched his downy hair and Jack cooed and then grunted as he tried to roll over. “Ours.” 

The knock interrupted their bonding moment. Soon, Castiel’s office was filled with family and friends. Castiel held his glass of champagne and watched Mick holding Jack, Ketch pressed against his back. They made a striking couple. Ketch had told Dean he was ready to propose to his Irish lover. Castiel’s smile was knowing. Mick had already bought a ring and was taking Ketch on a trip to Dublin to meet his family next week. Ketch didn’t know anything about it. Castiel let his eyes roam the room. Dean was involved in a heated discussion with Chief Singer. Castiel moved forward to save the chief. This was an argument that had been repeated many times since Jack was born. No one was good enough to guard their son. It wasn’t like Jack left the house unless he was with them and their full detail, but Dean was adamant about getting Jack his own personal team until they left Washington. 

“Dean, leave Chief Singer alone. Our team is fine. We can revisit the need for bodyguards when Jack is older,” Castiel said firmly. Dean turned and opened his mouth to argue, but one look at his husband made his shut it again. This was a special night. Dean wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin it. _The stubborn ass_.

“Where is my grandson?” Naomi asked, coming up beside them. They’d arrived just a moment ago, but planned to stay for a few days. Naomi said she needed time to spoil Jack. 

“You’ll have to pry him away from Mick and Art,” Dean answered, pointing at the two men. She huffed and walked away. “They don’t have a chance.” 

Castiel laughed. “No, they don’t.” He tugged Dean close. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Dean whispered against his ear. He gave Castiel a soft kiss and then a nip on his lobe. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. He knew what Dean was asking. His days as the Vice President were numbered. It was bittersweet. He’d done so much to bring this country’s people together. If he won the governor’s race, they’d move to Springfield. If not, he wanted to buy a house near his parents. It was important to both of them that Jack know his grandparents. The polls were looking good for him. Dean already took a position with the FBI, white collar division. It would start once they moved. 

“I’m happy,” he replied honestly. “Really happy.”

*** 

At eighteen months, Jack was hell on wheels. Dean kissed his son before handing him off to the sitter. It was Election Day and he was supposed to meet his husband at campaign headquarters in a few hours, but first he had to go vote. 

He nodded to the two young… too young… bodyguards. “We’ll be back late.” The threat was implied. They better keep a close eye on Jack. He adjusted his tie in the mirror by the front door and stepped outside. The Impala sat in the driveway of their rented home in the Chicago suburbs. He slid behind the wheel and checked the address of their polling place. It would be his first vote as a citizen of Illinois.

The small, nondescript building normally served as a seniors’ hall. He walked to the back of the line and prepared to wait his turn. A young mother pushing a stroller turned around and spotted him. “Oh, wow, you’re Vice President Novak’s husband.” Everyone in the place stopped talking and stared at him. He smiled shyly and waved. This had been the norm since he and Cas announced their engagement to Anderson Cooper in an exclusive interview three years ago. He’d gotten used to it... sort of. 

“I’m voting for your husband,” an elderly man said. Others in the room echoed him. Dean thanked each and every person who spoke to him and when it was his turn, he pulled the lever to cast his vote. 

Fifteen minutes later, he found a parking place near Cas’ campaign headquarters and stepped inside to controlled chaos. He located his husband standing with several contributors and his parents. He joined them and kissed Cas on the cheek, wrapping his arm possessively around his waist.

As the night came to an end, the polls were announced. The race had been a close one, but Cas was declared the winner by over two hundred thousand votes. Champagne flowed and Dean watched proudly while Cas made his acceptance speech. Living in the fishbowl hadn’t been as bad as he’d first thought. He still got to go to work every day. He still got to wake to Cas every morning. And they’d gotten to start a family. He glanced up at the huge monitor on the wall and the local news station was showing a picture of him and Cas holding their son. He blinked back the sudden wetness in his eyes. They were starting a new chapter. Cas was already talking about a possible baby sister for Jack.

Cas caught his attention and held out his hand. Dean took it and was pulled up to the podium. Lights from cameras blinded him, but he held his smile. This was his life now and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, another story ends. I have so many new ideas and will be posting something very soon. I hope you liked this one.


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